Summer Girl
by beautifulmornings
Summary: This is not a love story. This is the story of a girl so lost to war that even the four boys who loved her couldn't save her. This is the story of Hermione Granger's last year. Language, Adult Themes etc.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics are by Taking Back Sunday - My Blue Heaven.

**Prologue**

_Sometimes it just feels better to give in._

Twisting and curling into the midnight blue skies of late summer, the smoke seems to trace a path into the heavens. The girl, small and tired, released a soft breath, humming along to an invisible tune, lost as she was in everything. Looking up and around her, as though suddenly realising she is not where her mind has taken her, she takes a long, languid drag off her cigarette. Another slow exhale and she's lost once more in her thoughts. The cigarette in itself is a symbol of all that has changed for her – the concept itself a cruel joke considering how she used to be so pure. The smouldering end is her passion, her light, for she burns just like her beloved cigarettes – from the inside out; the fallen ash that fades into the still night is every piece of her that slips away, each part of her soul that has been distinguished in the last six years. She stays there, the smoke curling round her forming eddying swirls in the cold air. Gradually the cigarette burns away – burning out like she imagines she must be - shrinking with every inhale, measuring the time she has before she has to turn around and return – return to her life, to their expectations, to everything she wanted to avoid. The girl takes one last drag, savouring it, before staring regretfully at her burnt down cigarette and stubbing it out in a broken plant pot. Wearily she climbs to her feet, stretching her back and shaking her head, as if to clear it of any traces of her mournful thoughts, and heads towards the glowing windows and faint sounds of laughter in the distance. Her silhouette is clear against the faded back drop.


	2. The Changeling Girl

******Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics are from The Shins - New Slang.

**The Changeling Girl**

_Turn me back into the girl I was when we met._

Hermione was different, she had begun to change, slowly at first, but soon it was as though every other day when she woke up, something else had snapped into focus and changed a little more. Since fifth year Hermione had grown up considerably, the events at the Ministry seemed to wipe part of her away, no longer could she be so reserved, after all she only had today, didn't she? Despite the fact that Voldemort had been killed a scant year after that, Hermione still could not revert to back to the child she had been. Gone was her long hair, and with the loss of her hair came the loss of her inhibitions. She wore what she wanted, when she wanted, whirling through life, because if she stopped, she feared she would find something she didn't like. All this served to alienate her from her friends, and despite their best efforts, they could not understand her behaviour or reach her through the impenetrable shields she had erected. With every step away from her old friendships, Hermione took another step towards out of control. First had come the smoking, with combined with her love-hate relationship with food only served to make her leaner than ever. Soon after came the drinking, and now she was out two or three nights a week drinking; her drinking ranged from a couple of glasses of wine, to shot upon shot of every kind of spirit imaginable in the noisiest bars she could find – her friends used to try to keep up, but she was insatiable. Then came the inevitable string of boys she seemed to rotate between every other week, fucking them before leaving them in the dust once more. Hermione Granger had been truly lost, and in her place was some changeling child.

After a painful summer, which only served to remind the Trio of how much they had grown, all three boarded the Hogwarts Express, eager and relieved to be returning to their safe harbour for one final year. Hermione sat blank eyes for barely an hour, as Ron and Harry shot her nervous glances, as though she would snap at any second, before she slid smoothly from her seat, soundlessly exiting the room. She seemed to glide down the hallway barely making a sound, but nevertheless drawing as much attention as if she had burst into flames and run screaming down the train. Finding an appropriate place towards the back of the train, she unlatched the window, pushing it out as far as it could reach, fumbling through her pockets for something. Sighing in relief, she drew out her cigarettes. Nimbly she slid one from the pack and lit it up, taking a deep drag. Sighing in pleasure she leant as far out the window as possible, exhaling the smoke. She watched it curl away - a stark contrast with the scenery flying past. Smiling she began to hum again – a strange lilting tune that never quite seemed complete. The scene drew clear parallels between that cold summer night a mere month ago, where she had sat contemplating the stars as she smoked another pack. That seemed another world away, yet here she was, all that had changed was the location and the time of day. Hermione was dreaming her world away again.

* * *

Two carriages from the end of the train, Draco Malfoy was deep in thought. Glancing once again out the compartment window he watched her for a few more moments before fixing his stare on the floor. That girl, that dangerously mysterious girl, could not be Granger. This girl's hair was a deep red, short and choppy, whipping roughly around her face in the window, her dress floating in the breeze as though it were as insubstantial as her, the legs long and lean (although he supposed he had never before seen Granger's legs, so this was not a valid point), and the look in her eye and her way of walking was hungry, predatory – maybe even faintly terrifying, in the most alluring way he had ever seen of course; but he could not deny, it was Granger's face, her eyes, maybe her face a bit thinner, her eyes with a different gleam, but the same face and eyes none the less - even her hair was still untamed. This could not be possible, because Granger was sweetness and light, sickly as candyfloss – poster girl for the righteous, and this girl was not wholesome at all: her stance spoke of someone who had been around; the way she held her cigarettes indicating it was not a recent development to her life, in fact that she was more used to having one dangle from those slim fingers than not; she bore signs of a recent hangover, pale and limp, as though anything more substantial that a feather would sweep her away which was not helped by the fact that she was waifish – lean almost to the extreme; finally, there was no gleam of righteousness, or golden aura, no self satisfied smile, the girl looked broken as though she was merely held together by sheer force of determination and a whip sharp mind, not at all Grangerish. This girl, the one outside his window in that black dress, was haunting. She was terrible - terrible and beautiful. He was inexplicable drawn to her. He wanted to hurt her, hold her, have her. He wanted everything from her. Roughly he shook his head, his hair sweeping across his face as he did so, as if dislodging any thought of the Granger outside his window. Forcing himself to pay attention, Malfoy began to laugh and joke with his friends, but the laughter was strained, and every so often his gaze would flicker momentarily to the girl in the window. Eventually he stopped trying to be involved, and pressed his head to the glass closing his eyes with a sigh for a few seconds, and when he straightened and reopened them, she had gone. Once again, he leaned back into the window and let his mind wander now the distraction of her had left.

The other occupants in the compartment – all his old "friends" and two new ones – observed him either with confusion or a calculating stare, as they tried to uncover what could have made this boy they had thought of as their leader so unreachable; only one other pair of eyes had managed to spot the source of the young Malfoy's consternation, and he was also, coincidentally the only member of the group to not be analysing Malfoy. Theodore Nott had seen her, seen the heartbreak, and he decided that she was his to save; she was captivating to him, a siren that only he could hear. He knew Malfoy had spotted her too, as soon would the others, especially Blaise, and he knew that if he wanted her he would have to fight for her. People would try to tear her down. He knew of many who would savour the taste of her destruction, pay to see her broken before them, and it was unacceptable. Right then Theodore Nott swore to protect Hermione Granger no matter the cost.

For Malfoy the feeling of need lingered despite his best efforts to ignore that haunting face. "She isn't even that pretty", he cursed to himself. He loathed the way the things she made him want to do to her. He loathed how she made him lose control, hated how she made him want to hurt her, disgusted by the fact he wanted to touch her; the worst was the feeling that he would not let her go for anything – she was his to destroy or save. Draco Malfoy was going to have Hermione Granger. He would make her beg and plead, make her scream; make her feel what she made him feel. A familiar smirk crawled across his pale features, and his mind whirled with the possibilities. Satisfied, Malfoy leant back and laughed harshly at the dumb looks on his companion's faces.

No one would remain untouched by end of the year.

* * *

Leaving her post at the window, Hermione smiled, feeling full again – full of life, full of energy, full of hope. Hermione felt almost like she was Hermione again, not this strange imposter who had taken over her mind. Smiling at the lower years, she trailed down the corridor, the smell of smoke that lingered was like a golden aura, and she was untouchable right now. She swung open the door to the carriage, plopping forcefully into the seat beside Ron, and carefully unwrapped a chocolate frog, taking a dainty bite, before begging into their card game. The two boys exchanged a gleeful look, smiling, as this was the Hermione they loved, the one who smiled and scolded and reminded them that they would always be together. The Trio were quickly immersed in Exploding Snap, Ron crowing at his victories, while Harry laughed raucously and Hermione stuck her tongue out at the both of them. The scene was almost perfect. Yet on the seat next to Hermione lay the one small reminder of all that had changed - an unwrapped chocolate frog, only the tiniest of bites missing. The chocolate frog was only small, yet that tiny detail symbolised everything that had changed, the effect that the last six years had wreaked upon one of the three. Hermione felt it as though it were a beacon and soon her smile slipped again. Pulling her expression back she forced herself to be happy, but the mood had gone. Harry and Ron sighed, tasting the change in the atmosphere. Subdued, the boys withdrew, the game ending, chatting quietly by the door as Hermione once more pulled back, headphones in, as she fell down the rabbit hole and back into her own nightmarish wonderland.

Three minds had one last thought; this would never be the same from them, before they slipped into pained silence.


	3. A Shining Smile

**Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics are from New Found Glory - Dressed To Kill.

**A Shining Smile**

_You're always dressed to kill, and you feel like you owe it to the world._

For Hermione, the next few hours were spent contemplating how she got where she was now. She remembered the heady days half a year ago so clearly, when she was happy, the war was done. They were safe then, then she thought back to the months following the battle, when the nights drew colder, of how bitter the world had still felt to her and, in fact, still did. No one was happy, yet everyone pretended, and it made her feel sick.

Six months ago, Voldemort finally fell, all the Death eaters rounded up, in one fell swoop. As she had stared around on the eve of that night, panting from exertion and seeing the peace that had fell upon the land, she had wept tears of joy and hope for the years to come. That night all of them had got rip roaring drunk, hammered, smashed, blitzed – in fact the party did not end for a good two weeks – Hermione got her hair cut, went shopping, spent time just to be herself, she no longer needed to worry whether it was practical, she had time, she was safe. Then everyone come down from their highs. There were jobs to be done, and grudgingly they had returned to the scene of the battle to start the clean up. It was then that she had seen how awful it was. Bodies littered the floor, limbs at awkward angles, grotesque caricatures of children's dolls. The dirt was still stained red, and whole families were laid out together as though they were on some macabre picnic by the lake. After that she had started to be sick, she could not stomach the food, could not sleep without the nightmares that plagued her, and the visions of the smiling dead danced in her head. By day she was Hermione, bright and hopeful, by night, a red eyed ghost of the halls of the Burrow. Hermione had not been able to stop thinking about the people she had killed, the families she had torn apart, the families she knew who were torn apart. She loathed what she had become in the war, and strived to be as far from that girl as possible. Her hair and clothes became more radical, and she forced herself to make friends, and soon she seemed happy - she had thought she was so very, very happy. She partied with friends, she sunbathed, she was a teenage girl – albeit with bookish tendencies; just being outside under the sun made her smile, and everyone remarked on how well she coped. What sick irony. Now she barely ate in fear of the sickness that would follow, and somewhere along the way at one of those many parties where she had got so drunk she had started smoking, fucked the first boy. She had thought it made her happy, how wrong she had been. It was not long before she realised that she did not enjoy those parties, those faceless boys, staring at food and not being able to eat it. Hermione was lost, and this was all she knew now. Her friends thought she was coping well, so she carried on pretending. But the cracks began to show in August. She went out more often - so often no one could keep up, not even the infamous Weasley twins. She brought home boys, or worse, never came home. She drank twice the amount of everyone else, not even needing an excuse drink anymore. Her smoking was no longer confined to parties. Mystified, her friends had tried to ignore it, kept out of that part of her life, figuring that she was healing and that it was a phase – after all, she had barely relaxed in six years and she seemed cheerful, they had reasoned. But inside she had been miserable, she did not know how to change, and her act had become almost flawless, she could no longer see how to call for help. So Hermione carried on: carried on drinking herself into oblivion every night; carried on fucking those boys who made it go away if even just for a second; carried on slipping out the house at night when everyone thought her to be soundly asleep to stare at the skies. If she stopped twirling through life, barely touching anything, she did not know if she would be able to deal with it would reveal. Hermione swore that summer to never stop spinning.

In the distance three horn blasts sounded, snapping Hermione out of her reverie. Blinking, she shrugged on her robe determined to push her dark thoughts away. She smiled brightly at her two friends, and pulled them merrily from the carriage to descend to the platform below. As they laughed and joked, Hermione pulling Ron into a mock waltz that made him blush fuchsia and her grin devilishly, her dress swaying with her. She felt at peace, if just for the moment, and she revelled in it. The feast passed in the same sort of festivity, and all the Gryffindors chatter excitedly on their way to their dorms. Even the "Back to School" party started well. Then the Firewhisky came out. Soon Hermione was halfway to drunk, and buzzing, everyone else pleasantly merry too. An hour later she had disappeared, returning later looking slightly dishevelled and wiping her mouth delicately as she plonked herself down between Ginny and Neville. The three were happily engaged in conversation before Hermione flitted off with another boy to "talk". Gryffindor saw the new Hermione in all her technicolour glory that night, there was no holding back on her part. As the clock began to chime 3 AM, only a few people remained, Hermione conspicuously not among them. Ron and Harry waited a further hour before returning to bed, wondering what had become of their friend, before falling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Early the following morning, Harry awoke to the sound of a familiar voice. Hermione. Hurried he scrambled to get out of bed, falling in an ungainly heap on the floor as he tripped on his duvet. With that Ron let out a loud grunt, and shot out of bed, shouting something about not worrying, because he would deal with the Flobberworms. A musical laugh sounded, reminding Harry of why he had been in such a hurry to being with. Sliding his glasses on, he broke into a smile, Hermione was fine, and she was standing in front of him, plain as day.

"Hermione! How'd you get up here?" questioned a bleary Ron. Harry look at her quizzically.

"Umm, well, I, er, well, you know", Hermione responded, blushing to the roots of her hair and looking down. Comprehension dawned on Harry's face.

"You slept up here." He stated plainly. "Who with?" he did not sound disappointed, merely resigned, whilst Ron purpled behind him.

Shamefaced, Hermione whispered, "D-dean...a-and Seamus". Ron gaped, and Harry steadied himself on the bed. But she had not finished, the last two words were the final blow.

"I think" she murmured.

Ron finally snapped. "You mean to say, that not only did you shag two of the guys in my dorm, you shagged them together. Well, if they were who you think they were."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, teeth digging firmly into her bottom lip. Murmuring an apology she fled the room, slowing on the last few steps, so as to seem casual. As she spied the occupied common room, she fixed her mask in place. Despite this being called the "Walk of Shame", Hermione showed no signs of shame, she sauntered across the room, not bothering to hide where she came from, or her state of undress, she even went as far as to smile at some of the more outraged looking members of her house. She knew what she had done was wrong, but the reactions of her friends, their resignation and self righteous anger, bolstered her. The annoyance she felt at them not bothering to see why she had done it tugged on her rebellious side. Hermione Granger was going to show this house how to have fun even if it killed her (well with hangovers like this, it very well could). With that she stalked up the stairs to her dorm, daring anyone to bother her.

* * *

In the dungeons, several of the Slytherins were suffering the same problem. Scantily clad bodies were strewn across the floor, making a maze for the seventh years to navigate. Draco Malfoy, in his hung over state, could simply not be bothered to jump around like some bloody ponce. No, he decided, he would make them move for him. Sighing, as he felt a pang of selfishness, he proceeded to nudge the people in his path awake gently, telling them to go up to their dorms, until he reached the chairs around the fire. Slumped round the fire were the usuals – Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Greg and Vincent. Wordlessly, Blaise handed him a clear vial which Malfoy promptly downed. He groaned at the relief it afforded and slide into the chair on the left. The conversation was muted and mainly revolved around how much they had had to drink, who scored with who, who had barely managed to survive their toxic parties, and if the select few students from other houses had made their way back. Contrary to popular belief, like many children brought up in environments as strict as they had been, the pureblood elite had rebelled as soon as they became of age, and their families were locked up. Maybe they were not muggle loving, hippies, and they still maintained a certain level of contempt for those not of pure magical blood, but they had mellowed. They continued to mock other houses, but not for their blood, and occasionally, those deemed worthy from other houses would be invited to parties. They even deemed it suitable to drink muggle drinks, and smoke muggle cigarettes, if purely because they were stronger than the wizarding equivalent.

Leaning back and closing his eyes, Malfoy zoned out of the conversation. He had "got lucky" last night, but she was just another girl, nothing special, and he ached for that. He ached for something that made his blood fizz and his eyes burn. He wanted a girl who made him work, who challenged him. He wanted a girl with a face in a sea of faceless girls. One face sprung to mind and he growled ferociously, clenching his fists. It was difficult to shake the old prejudices, and she was everything he hated, she was so dirty. When he looked up, he saw Pansy, who sat closest, shoot him a funny look. His frustration deflated, and he let out a breath between his teeth. Stretching, and his back cracking, he stood slowly, languidly searching through the accumulated rubbish on the tables until he found his treasure. Waving the pack of cigarettes, he called to the others - "You coming?"

Five minutes later, Malfoy, Blaise and Pansy slumped down towards the lake, managing to look superior even in rumpled clothes, and in Pansy's case, smudged lipstick. To their surprise, a lone figure, sat draped on a rock at the edge of the lake, feet skimming the surface, cigarette hanging like an extension of her fingers. Even as they approached, she barely stirred, and they shrugged, grouping nearby as they huddled to light up. Once they were alight, they spread out slightly, and Malfoy let his gaze slip sideways to the girl – obviously Hermione – before making a snap decision.

"Oi, Granger", his voice rang out in the still morning air.

Turning, and gazing back coolly, she replied with a "what?"

Thrown by her dismissive attitude, he stumbled over his words, "Er, mind if we join you?"

Nodding once, she turned back to the lake, lifting her hand to her mouth as she did so. The smoke curled slowly from her mouth as she exhaled, and she appeared fascinated. The Slytherins resumed their conversation, shooting nervous glances, unsure of whether to include her, until she made the decision for them, seamlessly integrating herself. Hermione was cool and unfazed, not bothered by whom they were, and who she was, or the last six years – she simply acted as though they were mere acquaintances before and they were having a normal conversation. When she smiled, the air seemed to shimmer and glitter around her, she was vibrant and alive. In fact, soon they four were laughing as though they were old friends, several cigarettes lighter for their troubles. Malfoy was starting to notice the way she laughed dry at times, almost cynical, and other times ringing as clear and unbridled as a bell, how her hair seemed to be on fire in the dim morning light. She was mesmerising, although only because he was still half drunk he rationalised. They chatted aimiably for a further hour before she stratched catlike, waving once before disappearing back inside to "do shit" as she laughed. The Slytherins remained for a further twenty minutes before sauntering inside too.

* * *

Alone in his room images danced through his head. Images of the way her rumpled dress slipped up her thigh, the way she bit her lower lip, the way her hair looked as though she had had a good shag the night before, the way she smirked as though thinking about something very bad no one else knew about. God, she drove him wild. She was sharp as a whip, and would understand what he needed. They were two of a kind. Granger would understand that he did not want commitment, he did not want an epic romance, he wanted a shag. Just a shag. Blaise Zabini licked his lips. He would not rest until he had bedded Granger to see if she could drive him as wild in bed as she did out of bed. She was as fierce as a lion, as sly as a snake, and as alluring as a veela to him. But until then, he mused as he sauntered into the common room and smiled cheekily at a blushing girl, no one said he couldn't have a bit of fun. Blaise and the girl slipped upstairs, and his door remained firmly locked for several hours.

* * *

Upstairs, Hermione sat tucked into bed, make up smeared, clad in a t-shirt and knickers. She was floating, last night would keep her going for a day or two and in the Slytherins she had found something of a few kindred spirits. Controversial as it was, she found herself tolerating, maybe even enjoying their company this morning. They had darker minds, and less of the eternal optimism that plagued so many of her friends. It was refreshing. Pulling a worn book from under her bed, she began to read until the book slipped from her fingers, and she finally got to sleep the previous night off.


	4. Masks You Wore

**Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics are from Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - Your Guardian Angel.

**Masks You Wore**

_Seasons are changing and waves are crashing over us._

It had been several months since school restarted and life continued as it had for the summer prior. They talked, argued, laughed, drank, smoked, fucked. Well, Hermione did. Nothing changed, well, not much.

Autumn had slipped silently into winter, and winter into a tentative spring, and now it was a balmy Saturday night in April. Hermione sat alone again. As usual, she had a cigarette clamped between her lips, a bottle of something alcoholic and coke, dangling from her fingers. Perched on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, Hermione let her bare feet swing, thoughtfully considering the clouds skidding across the sky. In the last few months, her cordial conversations with the Slytherins had grown to be almost friendly. Theo studied with her regularly in the library, Pansy invited her to go shopping or the occasional party if there was no one else available, Malfoy sat on the desk in front in Potions and frequently chatted amiably with her to her friend's annoyance. Blaise though, him she had really got to know. Blaise understood what she needed, Blaise invited her to the most risqué parties, introduced her to a host of new "victims" when she was on the prowl, helped her acquire the muggle liquor she was so dependent on, and most importantly, he fucked her into oblivion like no one else could. With the Trio she knew things were not as rosy. Sighing, she took a swig from the bottle. Then she smiled. Her life had not gone as planned, it still wasn't, but she was halfway happy. Hermione was learning to like herself as much as someone like her ever could. Maybe, just maybe things would get better. Looking into the sky, she laughed, a sound that seemed to echo as though the world was laughing with her. Hermione was going to be ok.

* * *

However, Hermione's friends were nowhere near as happy or hopeful.

Whilst Harry and Ginny had accepted the way Hermione would behave, adapted to fit in, Ron could not. To him, she was foreign and she was dangerous – she even collaborated with the enemy. His blood boiled at the thought. Harry and Ginny frequently reminded him that she was getting better, that she was more discreet with her behaviour, made the effort to act appropriately with them, to not be someone they did not love; to Ron this was betrayal. Hermione was struggling; he just knew it, no matter how she hid it. Maybe she believed she was happy like this, but how could she be, acting like some common whore. His face was turning a mottled shade of puce, his knuckles white. Forcing himself to breathe, the lanky red head leaned back into his seat. His anger dissipated, the hole it left filling with sadness that crashed against his insides, washing out all traces of hope and joy. He had lost her, the girl he had loved for all these years, she was some warped mirror image, not his Hermione; he could feel the love he had harboured souring inside him, turning him bitter. He knew he would act rashly, say something awful that would only make it worse, but he honestly wanted to help her. Ron knew that Hermione and him would never be together, could never work, she was too different, and he could feel his own heart pulling back from her. Even if her other friends refused to acknowledge that she was slowly drowning, he would not ignore it, for the sake of the love he had lost to her, he would not ignore her.

Three boys down in the dungeons had also turned their thoughts to the diminutive red headed girl that. Each was lost in his reverie, and each fretted for her.

Theo adored Hermione. To him, she was a guiding light, she was love and hope and all that was right with the world. Theo would not miss studying with her for anything, and he dearly wished he could spend more time with her, learn more about her, like what her favourite colour was, what her parents did for a living, what she thought on the most recent discussion that had had in Potions. Theo loved her, loved her so much her thought his heart would burst with the sheer warmth of it all. He wanted, no, needed, to make her smile that hundred kilowatt smile. Just catching a glimpse of one of the little dances she used to celebrate any occasion would induce a grin big enough to swallow the moon whole with to dance on his face. But Theo would never ever be one of the boys she slept with, the idea was repellent, he refused to even entertain the thought of kissing her. Theo had come to realise that whilst he wanted to protect the obviously fragile girl, she had become the sister he had never realised he needed before he even noticed it. Maybe she did not feel that way, but Theo knew that they could be friends until the end of time if she let them. However, despite the connection Theo felt, and the fun they had, he knew that Hermione was troubled. So well had she learnt to hide all her problems that even she could no longer recognise that she was trying her best to destroy everything she had been, and drive herself into an early grave. Hermione took bigger risks, always searching for a new thrill, and whilst she had never taken anything illegal, he felt it was simply a matter of time – especially with Blaire to egg her on. The distrust he felt towards Blaise regarding Hermione had caused a huge rift between the pair that neither could breach, nor even approach, though that was not the point. Theo needed Hermione to let him in before she took it too far, he grew steadily more worried, as she frequented parties in the dungeons more often, spent more time alone late in the night. Something was going to happen to her, he knew it. His eyes squeezed up, dread rising like a tidal wave. Theodore Nott was just praying he could help her before someone got hurt.

In the bed next to Theo's, a figure growled and sighed in quick succession, as though letting the anger defeat them. Blaise could not sleep. Hour after hour after hour he stared at the canopy above him, thinking through everything. Well, trying to. Blaise could only think of one thing - Granger. They had quickly become fuck buddies, and god she was good. Granger had been everything his mind had conjured up and more, she was like nirvana. Her skin was as smooth as ivory, her lips plump as strawberries, her smile lighting up the skies. He shook his head ferociously. No, Granger was just a toy, not anything else. He wished. Blaise had been forced to admit to himself that Hermione, yes, Hermione, was no longer just a useful lay. He denied it when he stopped sleeping with other girls (they just did not measure up), he denied it when he started to like parts of her other than her looks (they were just friends), he denied it when he started to take her places he had never taken any other girls (she was as bad as him, she was worthy). But Blaise could not deny it when he had owled his mother to tell her he had met a girl. He was so stupid. Granger thought of him as a simple shag, he knew she still slept around, in fact, she probably was right now. His grip on the sheets tightened. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Lying on his bad, pathetic and alone, yearning for a girl who did not care. Blaise went to climb out of bed, intent on finding something, anything, to shag, but bile sprang into his throat at the thought. Sighing, he admitted defeat, and lay down. He needed release, but he would not get any from her tonight. Flushing in shame, Blaise aligned himself with the idea of relieving himself – again. Fourth time this week. He was the great Zabini. Who now sneaked sordid wanks in a room for of boys. Blaise's last thought before he settled down to the job at hand was that he would make her need him, like he needed her – at any cost.

The last of the three sat brooding by the fire. Malfoy's pale hair glinted in the light of the flames, his eyes reflecting the movement. To the casual observer he was calm, passive, in control. What a lie. Malfoy was ready to kill, tortured, maim. The next person that got in his way would suffer, especially if that person was Zabini. Zabini had touched her, still touched her. Images of the time he caught them – on his bed no less – reverberated through his mind, and anger pooled, hot and fiery in his stomach. Granger was meant to be his, and only his. He strongly denied liking her in any way, in fact, he strictly did "not like": her eyes, her laugh, her smile, the way she made him feel, the way she moved, her hair in the light, the way she looked in the morning, her attitude, her sarcasm, her intelligence, or her voice. He sneered. Hermione had lost yet more weight, her eyes seemingly huge in her face, her limbs almost breakable, she drank more even if she thought no one had noticed, and most noticeable, there were twice the amount of cigarette butts in her ashtray than there ever had been before. She could pretend, but she was breaking, even if she did not know it. Originally, he had just wanted to own her, have the ability to hurt her, to do as he pleased; now, he would make her suffer, make her pay for sleeping with his best friend, making him lose control – he would hurt her until she wished that she had never bothered to come back this year. In fact, he would start right now. He stormed from the room, cloak whipping round his shoulders as he went in search of his prey.

* * *

It was now one in the morning. Several hours ago Hermione's euphoria had broken. As the wind had cooled, pulling at her clothes and hair, cruelly taunting her with its swift jabs, she had shivered, suddenly aware of how cold she was, and how lonely it was up here. The sky suddenly seemed to darken several shades, the moon receding behind a cloud, as if hiding from the night, and from her. She swallowed, seeing how perfectly this fitted her life. She had turned her back on the warm comforts of what had been, and although it was still there, it would be more difficult to go back than it had been to turn away, and the new world was cruel and cold, the people so far away. A sharp pain pierced her throat, and she realised with almost clinical detachment, that she would cry soon, but she did not. Instead her mournfulness morphed into fear. Alone, she sat hunched and shivering on the ledge, the drop below dizzying as she looked down, knees drawn up to her chest, a cigarette as her safety blanket. That was how Malfoy found her an hour later. Silently he slid behind her, whispering her name in her ear. With a gasp she turned quickly, almost falling. Their eyes locked.

His cruel taunt hung from his tongue. He could taste the bittersweet words, was anticipating the delicious hurt they would cause. Then he saw her. The lean form he had so admired, as almost skeletal, her bones protruding far too much, her clothes hanging loosely. Dark smudges sat below her eyes, her skin paper white, and her lips faded. Worst of all though, were her eyes. Those eyes, those eyes so full of everything, so big in her gaunt face, were haunted. The fear and pain shone through like a beacon calling to him, begging silently for help. He swallowed loudly. He had not realised how dull her eyes had been until he had seen them full of emotion again. Draco realised that he had not truly seen her for months, what had been so risqué before, so tempting, was less risqué, more outright dangerous. Being with her, being her, was poisonous, and Blaise was welcome to whatever toxin she would fill him with. She could not save herself, let alone anyone else. The pity overwhelmed him, and while he could bring himself to comfort her, he could not tear her fragile heart anymore. Stuttering and stumbling, he looked back into her quizzical eyes, uttering words that would change something forever, even though they seemed so shallow, so useless, and so utterly unprofound.

"Just wanted to know if you wanted to go to a party next Friday, you can come round before, Pansy would like it. If you're coming, tell one of us, or meet us at 5 in the dungeons."

With that he span on his heel, walking briskly from the broken girl in the window. When he thought she could no longer hear his footsteps, he ran, pushing himself, not stopping until he reached his common room where he once again slumped into the chair. He wanted her even more, she was not immortal and that had touched something within him. An angry yell tore from his throat. How could they let this happen? Tomorrow, heads would roll. Tomorrow, someone would pay. Anyone who saw the boy sitting by the fire that night moved swiftly from his path, because that night, Draco Malfoy was a demon hell bent on revenge.


	5. The Edge Of Something

**Disclaimer:** Characters, location etc belong to JK Rowling. Lyrics are from Joshua Radin - Winter.

**The Edge Of Something**

_your name is the splinter inside me _

The day dawned bright and clear, hiding the war that would rage in the dungeons. At eight, Theo ambled down stairs, quickly joining Malfoy by the fire, forty five minutes later, Blaise joined them. Theo observed Draco more closely, he had yet to say a word, and this made him very uncomfortable, it was never a good sign really. Draco turned his piercing gaze on the two boys, assessing them both silently before speaking. His voice help no chance of denial or escape, just pure accusation tipped with hatred.

"What have you done to Hermione?"

Theo calmed quickly, after all, he had been meaning to discuss this with the other boy, and knew that he had done nothing wrong, that his concern was what Draco was looking for. Zabini, on the other hand, shifted nervously. Draco picked up on this, turning his sharp gaze on him, his eyes boring holes in the other boys head. When Blaise returned his gaze his eyes were full of steel and defiance.

"She asked me to."

Something snapped in Draco eyes and Theo cautiously back away, going to leave.

"Get back"

Malfoy's tone did not allow for questions, and silently he fell back in line. Blaise was on his feet, as was Draco, and they were squaring off. It would not be pretty. Rage simmered, and Malfoy hissed menacingly.

"Have you seen her, really looked at her. You might think it's all fun and games, fuck with the Gryffindorks. But she won't survive it. She doesn't eat, she obviously doesn't sleep. Have you ever seen her without a fag in hand? You're encouraging her. Well she's not just another of your little whores. You sick bastard. Do you enjoy watching? Does it turn you on to see her like that?"

At Malfoy's cruel tone, Blaise stiffened, his whole body shaking with hatred for the blonde boy. How dare he say that, he had never done anything except what she had begged of him, never plied her with alcohol or taken her to parties that she couldn't handle. God, she was not just some girl to him, Hermione was the first girl to have ever meant something. He thought about her constantly, he was bordering on obsessed. That ignorant prick. How dare he, arrogant little prat, come in and tell him how he felt. Stepping closer and smirking nastily, Blaise whispered the words that would detonate the bomb.

"No she's not, she's so much more. But if you are wondering, she is a good fuck – maybe I'll let you have a go."

Malfoy punched him. Blaise fell to the floor, quickly righting himself, spitting the blood onto the carpet before launching himself at the other boy, and hitting him right back. Before long, it had descended into an all out brawl – wands were used, and both boys seemed fully prepared to venture into the realms of illegal over this. Clinically, Theo wondered if secretly both boys wanted the girl, and that's why it mattered so much. He mentally shrugged it off, focusing on how to solve the problem at hand. A crowd had quickly gathered, egging them on. Theo sighed again, before swiftly stepping between the two boys, separating them with a flick of his wand. He informed them that they would lose the respect they had so painstakingly garnered over the years if they continued, and both boys grudgingly moved off, glaring at the other, as though to remind them of what had happened – like the broken noses and bloodied knuckles weren't enough of a reminder. Dispersing the crowd, Theo watched Blaise stalk up to his rooms, undoubtedly to lick his wounds, as Draco slammed out the portrait hole and off to some unspecified location around school.

It had only lasted five minutes, but the destruction was worse than had been seen in many years, and neither boy had been pulling punches. Unsure of when this rift would heal Theo sat on one of the remaining chairs round the fire, dismissing younger students curious as to what had happened. He sank into a contemplative state, hypnotised by the fire, wondering what would evoke such extreme reactions in the two normally calm boys. Again, his mind slipped back to the notion that maybe both boys cared for Hermione, that she meant enough to both of them, for neither to want the other to have her, or even be near her. For each boy, to take such offence at the petty insults as to brawl like those "brave" Gryffindors, or worse, drunken muggles, the girl must either be important or have something important. Snorting Theo rested his chin on his fist trying to decide what side he should take if this feud continued. Whilst Draco wielded the most power, Blaise was closer to the girl, and that meant it would be easier to get close to her. Both seemed to have equally strong convictions and ideas about her. Still undecided, Theo grabbed some of his most recent homework and went to find the one person who could calm him – incidentally, the same person who had caused all the trouble this morning. How ironic he mused as he silently meandered towards the library.

* * *

Malfoy was enraged, his nerves on fire, his mind jumbled, his breathing ragged. He was well aware of what he must look like. He rubbed his jaw wryly, remembering that Blaise could indeed throw a punch, and normally Slytherin logic told him that to grapple with him physically would not be favourable, well, not a certain victory anyway. Consumed in his thoughts, he did not realise his feet had led him to the Gryffindor portrait. The fire in his stomach ignited again. Banging on the portrait, he called for Ron and Harry. Seconds later, the two teens tumbled through the portrait hole, grumpily enquiring as to what the bloody hell he wanted. Snorting at their eloquence, Malfoy smirked.

"Have you seen Granger?"

They nodded. Fire burned in his eyes and the two boys unconsciously took a step back as they took in his dishevelled and bloody state. He grinned nastily.

"Then why the fuck have you not done anything?"

Ron sighed; he knew that they could not hide it any more. Harry looked nonplussed and entirely confused. Whispering to Harry, Ron pushed the boy back into the common room giving him a good shove when he faltered, looking doubtfully back at the mismatched pair. Straightening Ron began.

"Look, Malfoy..."

"No, you look Weasley," the blonde snarled, "she's wilting, she's dying, everyone can see it. Why aren't you stopping her? I thought you were the golden trio, making everything all just so perfect because you will it to be".

Ron shook his head mournfully.

"You don't understand, if I didn't understand the seriousness of this, do you really think I would be talking to a Ferret like you, alone, when I could be having breakfast?"

Malfoy faltered, and taking this as a sign to carry on, Ron continued.

"Hermione won't listen to me; I want to help, but..." he looked sheepish, "I tend to cock it up a bit"

Malfoy snorted derisively, "yeah, got that right Weasel."

Slightly aggravated, Ron carried forcefully, "_Anyway_, since I can't do it alone, and Harry and Ginny insist that I'm overreacting, I was gonna go find someone to help me, someone more sensitive. Since you're here, obviously for the same reasons, I thought we could make a truce: I still hate you, you still hate me, but we work together to get Hermione back."

Shrugging, Malfoy nodded his assent, tentatively shaking the freckly boy's hand, before wiping his own on his robe. Sniffing, he turned to leave, footsteps ringing down the empty hallway, glad of the help for the girl so fragile he feared she would snap in the breeze – even if it was a blood traitor like Weasel. Better than Potter though, he supposed. Finally, he reached his destination, murmured the password, and then slipped inside. The Prefect's bathroom would afford him the luxury and solitude he needed to consider what could be done, and to clean himself up. Grudgingly the thought occurred that, strategically, asking Blaise to help, no matter how much he thought the boy to blame, could have its advantages, as he obviously cared for the girl – and people who care are easily manipulated. Malfoy's muscles started to unknot as he slid into the bath, and he sighed. In here he could pretend that none of that shit was real, that the girl he had hated for six long years, wasn't fading away in front of him, and that he did not have a dangerous obsession with a filthy (he thought the last word half heartedly) mudblood. Draco Malfoy slid beneath the water, looking for all intents and purposes, like an angel.

* * *

Theo had eventually found Hermione tucked away in the very back of the library, obscured by stacks of books three times her height, and tomes that must weigh almost as much as her – not that that was a lot. The chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it out, and she glanced up, smiling warmly, if tiredly, at him. His smile was sad, as he saw what Draco had been trying to say. Hermione was fading, slowly but surely. What amused him most was that no matter what Hermione did the night before, she would always, always return to the library early every Sunday morning, and would often slip away to her respite at lunches and before dinner. Despite her wayward lifestyle, Hermione still read maniacally, strived to be head of the class, and finished every piece of work three weeks early. He chuckled and she looked up, inquisitive at the unexpected intrusion. Setting his quill down, he decided that maybe now would be a good time to talk to her, to start to get her to let him in.

"Hermione"

She looked up, pausing, then setting down her quill, to give him her full attention. A wan smile danced on her lips.

"Are we friends?"

Smiling, she nodded.

"Of course. Sometimes I think if things had been different, you could have been in the Golden Trio."

His heart soared, she felt that he was important too, that he could help her as she let Ron and Harry. This was positive.

"Then let's get to know each other properly, leave the homework, get a picnic from the kitchens and sit by the lake."

She looked doubtfully at her work first, assessing whether she had done enough, before finally agreeing happily. Hermione practically skipped as they tucked their bags away, and collected the picnic, laughing and dancing through the flowers in the grass. They sat under a large oak, and Hermione asked question after question about his life, and he about hers. They laughed and joked, talking about everything from politics to music. It had been a beautiful afternoon, but after several hours, as the light began to dim, she regretfully excused herself, guiltily reminding him that she had not told anyone where she had gone and that they would worry. Smiling he told her not to worry and waved as she turned and smiled at him from the Entrance. The buzz remained as he started to clear up. Then he saw her plate, and his heart filled with sorrow. She had not taken a single bite. Angrily, and uncharacteristically, he threw the plate as far as he could, hearing the satisfying smash of china shattering. He vanished the remaining rubbish with an angry flick of his wand, before storming back to the dungeons. Theo had never felt so helpless in his life, and he hated it.

* * *

Back in his dorm room, Blaise was pacing angrily. God, how could Draco assume that he, Blaise, would be so heartless, so cruel? He slumped onto his bed, hands roughly pulling at his hair in his absentminded frustration. So much pent up emotion – he was a Slytherin, he was not supposed to feel, and she definitely was not supposed to mean anything. Standing suddenly, he propelled himself out the door and down the stairs before he realised where he was going. He would find her, he would tell her, make her see that they could be more than this sordid affair, make everyone see that she mattered. Smiling confidently, despite shaking inside, he found himself standing outside the Gryffindor common room, politely requesting that Hermione Granger be found. Scant minutes later, she appeared, gracefully sliding through the portrait hole. His breath caught, and as usual, the need to have her overtook. But he would control himself. Taking her hand he gently pulled her down the corridor, she smiled up at him, radiant even though she was a mere shell of what she had been – his heart jumped. Soon this would all be his. As they continued, his confidence waivered, and doubt started to eat away at his resolve; they had connected over the fact that neither wanted anything more than this, so how would she take the idea of that changing? She was fragile; did she really need the added stress? His resolve crumbled and instead of talking to her, he fucked her. Hermione slipped away with not even a backward glance as soon as they were done. Blaise felt a strange ache in his chest, and bemusedly wondered what it was, as he slowly meandered back up to the dorms. It would be back to the original plan; if he could not get her by conventional methods, she would make her need him like she needed air. Smiling satisfied, and ignoring the protests in the back of his mind about his decided course of action, he stretched tiredly and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Hermione had slipped quickly away from Blaise, she knew that what they did was wrong, but she needed it, needed someone not to care, to let her just be. She had been forced to admit that she was aware of his burgeoning feelings, that she could never reciprocate them, and guilt bloomed bittersweet in her chest. Discontent and troubled by her actions and callousness, Hermione let her feet guide her to the usual spot. As it was a Sunday she remained resolutely sober - she would not let this "thing" interrupt her entire life, would let it run its course before she went off to work. Apprehension and dread flooded her mind, and startled, Hermione realised that she no longer looked forward to her future, could not even picture beyond her next birthday. Bitterly she glared at the cigarette she had unknowingly begun smoking as she trailed down to the rock. Her drags were short, angry. She forced the smoke from her lungs with such force it almost seemed as though it was punching through the air. Lost in her own bitter mind, Hermione leant back slightly, eyes fixed on her legs.

It was in that same position Ron found her as he wearily trekked back from the Quidditch pitch, dithering with indecision, he stood fixed to the ground. Hermione's head shot up as she sensed his gaze, and she smiled wanly. Insides squirming at the image that was everything his best friend was not, he slowly loped towards her, smiling tightly as his heart broke for her. Hermione scooted over, making room for the much larger boy as he plopped down beside her. They sat in silence gazing into the skies for the longest time before either spoke, and that was only for Ron to ask her if she wanted his jacket, which she refused. Silence reigned once more. Glancing over again at his best friend Ron sighed; Hermione was shivering violently, unsurprisingly considering what she was wearing. With a gentle "come here" he pulled her into his lap, arms circling her as they would a child. Ron's heart ached at how light she had become. Hermione snuggled deep into Ron's chest, missing the easy familiarity, the safety of the embrace, and wished once more that she had not gone down this stupid route. Neither spoke for hours. Eventually Ron noticed that despite her shivers having subsided, Hermione's shoulders were still gently shaking, looking down, he was startled to find her crying quietly and unashamedly. His grip tightened and he asked her why she cried. He truly thought his heart had snapped when she replied.

"For everything I've lost, and everything I'll lose"

It was two in the morning before Hermione had fallen into a fitful sleep, and Ron had sat doggedly with her until then. Ascertaining that she would not wake, he gently scooped her up and crept back into the castle and to their rooms. Realising that he could never get up the stairs to her dormitory, he tucked her deep into his bed, pulling blankets and pillows from the cupboard so he could sleep on the floor. Ron woke throughout the night, and each time, Hermione lay curled in on herself like a small child, so peaceful in sleep.

When Ron awoke next morning, he awoke to an empty bed, the sheets cold, and no trace that Hermione had ever been there except for the lingering smell of stale smoke.

For the rest of the week leading up to the Easter holidays, and incidentally, the party, Hermione was subdued. Rarely would she even bother to turn up to the great hall, holing herself up in the library where no one, not even Theo, could reach her. In fact, Hermione did not stay within sight for more than a few minutes until Friday night, when she flew into the common room overjoyed, startling the occupants. Happily she played several rounds of wizard's chess, ate a whole chocolate frog, and promised Ron that yes, she would be back by one the following morning, rolling her eyes jokingly. It was the happiest she had been in so long, and Ron felt buoyed up with hope at her sudden emergence, and apparent happiness. Maybe, just maybe, things would be alright after all.

Everyone was standing on the edge of something, and it was time to find out who would fall, and who would be saved.


	6. Paths We Chose

**Disclaimer:** The characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics from Goodnight Sunrise – It's The Stare.

**Paths We Chose**

_Your lips when you're kissing me, you're hips when you're leaving me_

Saturday dawned bright and clear. The morning was warm and the sky clear. Above them only the smallest of clouds floated, skipping across the sky as though late for something or other. The breeze was gentle, picking up the leaves and twirling through the air before dropping them once more as though in some bizarre dance, it waltzed through the group, trying to brush away all the cobwebs. It was a perfect April day. Lazily the Trio had decided to go down to the Quidditch pitch before lunch and then to maybe picnic by the lake before Hermione had to go. At the pitch Hermione had sat as she would have done before, dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, book in hand, laughing at the two boys antics, in fact the only difference was the barely notice stream of cigarettes that belied her nerves, and hid the awful feeling in her stomach. The hours slipped by and soon it was two, and the boys came down, stomachs grumbling, and pulling at Hermione to finish her chapter and come get lunch. Laughing out loud she had complied, marking her page and stubbing out her cigarette, wafting back up to the school in a haze of smoke and good humour. The boys had chased her, grateful to have their friend back but not ready to question why. Out of breath, they had stopped, hands on knees outside the kitchens, before Ron's stomach let out an almighty growl and they collapsed in a second set of giggles. Straightening, Hermione caught a glimpse of a familiar face whipping round the corner and her stomach flipped. Shrugging it off, she tickled the pear, and pulling the still breathless boys inside to get something to eat. House elves had quickly surrounded them, and they had taken away a wealth of food to eat by the lake, there were: sandwiches with every kind of filling, muggles crisps, chocolate, cake, butterbeers and many other treats. Even the boys struggled with the veritable feast, and it was five before, burping and groaning the last of the food was polished off. Hermione grinned at them wickedly, and the boys exchanged wary glances. Fast as lightening the tiny girl sped up the hill, with one last cry.

"Last one to the common room's a dirty Slytherin."

Gulping, both boys charged after her, and what followed was a brutal race through Hogwarts, students were left scattered and confused as the three whizzed by barely recognisable, portraits muttered under their breath as they hared round corners, and there was a steady stream of expletives from both boys who repeatedly crashed into things, not being as nimble as Hermione on their feet. By the time they had followed Hermione on the most roundabout route she could find back to the Gryffindor common room, and both boys had managed to drag themselves to chairs by the empty fire, it was gone half five. Hermione let out a yelp, and once more ran off to her room. Inside she showered quickly, flinging her clothes around trying desperately to find something to wear, grabbing shoes and make up as she went, and shoving it all into a bag, before racing back past both boys calling goodbyes and waving maniacally. She was already incredibly late and knew she would not be there before six. Hermione slowed her pace to walk to the Dungeons, for while she was still the same Hermione underneath, she rarely allowed it to show around anyone but the two who sat upstairs.

* * *

It was just gone six when Hermione knocked on the portrait in the Dungeons, and a further five minutes before an exasperated Draco Malfoy opened the door.

"You're late."

His voice was cool, and Hermione could feel her temper bubble at his complete lack of manners. Slipping once more into the girl she knew and hated so well, she barely spared him a glance, slipping into the room without touching him, and glancing around in search of the other girl. Pansy was on a chair by the fire, legs slung over one arm, and opened bottle of firewhisky in the other hand. Smiling viciously at the boy, Hermione made her way over, manoeuvring her way through the room like smoke. Malfoy stood gobsmacked at the door. Hermione had once again surprised him, refusing to bow to his will – god, she was utterly amazing, the thought rose unbidden in his mind. Two sets of eyes watched the sway of her hips as she went towards Pansy, mesmerised by how little effort it took for her to keep them trapped; Blaise and Draco stood hypnotised for several long seconds after Hermione had taken Pansy by the hand, deftly taking a long draw from the bottle and soundlessly sliding up the stairs to the Slytherin girls room. Laughing silently, Theo nudged them both back to reality before suggesting that they go get ready since the party started in just under two hours. Both boys complied numbly.

Up in Pansy's room, Hermione lit up once more, and asked Pansy what sort of party this would be, hoping desperately it would not be a non-event, because as much as she disliked being so trapped as this awful thing, she would be damned if she would not fulfil the role she had been given – Hermione Granger would not, could not do anything by halves. Pansy had grinned slyly at the girl lounging on her bed and told her how wild it was to be. Hermione took a long drag and let out a happy sigh when she exhaled. This party would get her utterly, royally fucked. There was to be plenty of drink, more people than she had expected and not just from within the school either, plenty of people who would have spare fags for her to commandeer, and Pansy had even suggested that some sort of muggle drugs would be there. Hermione's stomach flipped in excitement and apprehension, this was to be the best party she had attended yet. With that sorted, the two girls busied themselves getting ready, idly chatting about school, the most recent parties, the weather – anything and everything. Hermione never saw the worried glances her companion shot her as she stripped off her jeans ready to put on her dress, did not notice that she could have easily counted her own ribs, and that the gap between her hips was past concave. Hermione was utterly oblivious even as the other girl tried to offer her several snacks before they once more returned downstairs. Instead, Hermione just smiled winningly at Pansy, offering her one last cigarette before they went downstairs to set up ready for the guests. Pansy's last words as they descended the stairs would ring in Hermione's head for days.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm your friend 'Mione, and I'm here if you need anything."

With that Pansy had sent her a small but sincere smile, before disappearing from view and leaving Hermione frozen on the stairs.

* * *

That is how it came to be that Hermione entered the room several minutes after Pansy, straightening her dress and smiling as she did so. Determined to hide the dread Pansy's words had bred in her stomach, she quickly eyed up the closest, most attractive boy, smiling as she noticed him returning the favour. Sidling up to him, she began to work with him laying out the drinks and asking him what year he was – he had responded that he had left two years ago – and generally flirting with him; the boy responded well, and within fifteen minutes the boy had followed Hermione up to Blaise's room. Hermione shut the door softly behind him, and the two were almost instantly entwined, their breathing heavy and fast, and their movements frantic. Blaise, noticing his Hermione slip away had followed, pure rage simmering in his chest at the thought of that boy's hands on her, that boy kissing her, that boy generally being allowed near her. Silently, he pushed open the door. A wedge of light spilled into the room, illuminating the two shadowy figures. Hermione's dress was up round her hips, the boys trousers unzipped, and the two were moaning none too softly as they fucked on his bed - she clung to the other boy like he would save her and he was devouring her neck and lips hungrily, as though he had not eaten in weeks. Blaise took a sudden breath. It was almost painful to breath, and with equal stealth as he had arrived with, he slipped away, going entirely unnoticed by the couple on the bed. Once he was downstairs, Blaise grabbed a bottle of firewhisky and unscrewed the cap, promptly downing almost a fifth of the bottle in one go; his chest ached and burned with a fire that seemed utterly unquenchable, Hermione was supposed to be his, and although he knew she was with other boys, he had never really wanted to believe it, never really put much thought into what she and those other boys would do when he was not around. Now he knew, he thought bitterly. No one dared to come near Blaise, fearing what he would do if they dared to come near him, even Draco and Theo steered clear, unsure as to what had put their friend into such an awful mood. After what felt like hours later, but in fact had been just fifteen, Blaise had drunk half his bottle and Hermione had descended the stairs daintily, throwing a cheeky smile at another boy who stood by the portrait hole – Blaise glared at the boy ferociously. Within that thirty second tableau everyone had figured out what had riled Blaise – the girl he wanted was fucking around with other people, and whilst half the room vowed not to touch her so as not to anger the murderous boy, the other half were determined to get one up on him and lay claim to something he could so obviously not. Hermione turned from the room, and spotting Blaise went to sit with him, pulling out a chair close to him, and lighting up from a pack of cigarettes she found on the table, regarding him coolly before smiling suddenly, she leant in, brushing her lips against his ear and asking what was wrong. Cursing himself, Blaise flushed at the contact, hating that with that one smile his anger towards the tiny girl in front of him had melted clean away. Sighing, he pulled the girl onto his lap, letting her laugh and joke with him before cleanly extracting herself to flit off and talk to some faceless boy across the room. Hermione was onto her third victim and the party had not even started.

By the time Hermione surfaced again, the party was in full swing, and the boy she had been with had staggered out, utterly confused and unaware of what had just happened, but very grateful that it had. Blaise had long since abandoned trying to find her, so when she materialised in front of him he had tried to remain entirely impassive, but she had seated herself squarely on his lap, straddling him, and he had felt his heart race once again, and felt himself weaken at her touch. Hermione was insatiable tonight, and idly wondered how many she could entice before the party was over – she already had two, and Blaise was a certain third – although she felt a horrible pang at using Blaise, feeling that it was unfair considering she knew that he felt something more for her. Gently taking his bottle, she drank deeply before putting it on the table behind her, never once breaking eye contact. She would not mess this up, she had a reputation to uphold and to leave him now, she knew, would be even crueller as it would make him appear weak in front of his House, so steeling herself, Hermione pushed away her guilt and instead focused on what she knew those hands could do. Blaise found himself weak to her touch, and it had not taken much persuasion for him to take it further than he should right in that chair, in front of everyone; before he was even aware of what she was doing, she had deftly unzipped his trousers, smirking wickedly, before fucking him right there. Although he knew a crowd had begun to gather, as his grip tightened on her hips, and Hermione got louder and louder, he could not bring himself to stop, he needed her like nothing else and he knew most people would remain oblivious to what was going on, so was the size and noise of the party, and that no one would dare spread this - not if they wanted to keep their heads. It took just fifteen minutes for Hermione to finish him and herself, and deftly tidy them up before she once more disappeared into the crowds – he had been worth just fifteen minutes of her time. Heart sinking, he watched the red hair in the crowd, watched it slip from one set of arms to another, and feeling his heart crack at the thought of her with another boy. Picking up the half empty bottle he stared at it contemplatively, refusing to remove from his position until the party had ended and several more empty bottles lay at his feet.

Deep in the middle of the room, Hermione was beyond tipsy and verging on drunk. She had been with at least five boys, and kissed many more. This would be her sixth if he proved to have enough guts, she thought as she danced dangerously close to him, noting the desire in his eyes. Hermione knew that many of the boys present would steer clear as she was known to be with Blaise, however casually, and was friends with Theo, not to mention her connections to Draco Malfoy who would surely ruin anyone who dared to interfere with the way he wanted things to go. Smiling up at the boy, she continued to sway, her dress barely covering her and sticking to her like a second skin, she could see the way his eyes traced the curve of her body, and was well aware that the hungry glitter of her eyes would only encourage the boy more. True to form, in barely five minutes Hermione was leading the boy off to a darkened corner from which she emerged barely ten minutes later, smiling like a cat that had got the cream. Theo had taken note of all this, and sighed, wishing so much to stop her. Following her, he found her at one of the few windows in the Slytherin dorm, legs dangling outside, as she lit up once more. The look in her eye was troubled and Theo gently nudged her, so that she made room for him to sit next to her. The girl that had captured his attention so surely all those months ago tilted her head back, hair looking for all intents and purposes like fire in the dim light, to look at the stars, and once again, he wished that she could see him as someone who was willing to save her, if only she'd let him, not just another oblivious friend. Her cheeks were hollow, and her voice was low when she spoke.

"Do you ever wish to turn back, run as far and as fast as you can away from the road you walk?"

Staring at her, he took in her blank expression and the desperation hidden in her eyes as she looked at him. Clearing his throat he replied.

"Sometimes you need to ask people to help you turn around, but yes, sometimes I do wish I had chosen a different path."

Smiling wanly, she threw her cigarette butt gently outside before slipping back into the dark room, her small frame swallowed almost instantly by the heaving masses, leaving yet another boy alone to consider the enigma that was Hermione Granger.

* * *

Several hours and several boys later, Hermione stopped for a break. It was now two in the morning, and she had drunk far too much, and smoked god knows what on top of all the cigarettes. Head spinning, but refusing to release control of herself, Hermione sat down and watched people drift out of the common room to go back to their own dorms, or slip out onto the grounds so as to apparate home. Soon there were only a scant few people left to pick their way between the bodies of those who had simply crashed on the floor. Soon after, Hermione was joined by what she thought, in her inebriated state, was an angel. His hair glinted silver in the pale light, and his eyes were so blue they verged on grey. Her breath caught and she could not drag her eyes from the beautiful boy sitting next to her, so casually offering her a cigarette. Not letting her eyes stray from his face, she warily lit up, taking a deep drag, and belatedly realising that the object of her fascination was none other than Draco Malfoy. Still, she could not keep her eyes from him, and there seemed to be nothing else in the room but him and his musical voice and the hand he extended to pull her from the chair. As though in a trance, she followed him up the spiralling stairs, wanting to reach out and run her fingers through his silky hair but instead latching them firmly around her cigarette. It seemed like mere seconds before they reached their destination and she ached to spend more time with him, gently he tugged her towards a bed, and fascinated by his grace and the way he did not paw at her like the other boys, she sat next to him, perching delicately on the edge of the bed, wary of any sudden moves he could make. Draco made no sudden moves, instead talking to her softly until both were lying against the headboard talking like old friends about anything that crossed their minds; the hours slid by and Hermione ached to touch him still, and saw the growing need he had tried to restrain within his own eyes. Soon his hand was on hers and they fell silent, eyes locked and heads drawing closer. His kiss was like heaven, soft and sweeter than anything she had ever tasted, and she needed more, needed to see if he felt as good as he tasted. Sighing gently, she let him pull her dress over her head, quickly followed by his own shirt, and gingerly, every so gingerly, he moved so that he was above her, before kissing her once more.

Hermione had fallen asleep, softly sighing almost immediately after they were done whilst Draco lay awake looking at her figure curled up against him for hours afterwards. She seemed to fit almost perfectly against him, and he marvelled how despite how skinny she was, how smooth and clear her face seemed, how bright her eyes were and how red her mouth stayed. Her hair fanned out across his pillow and he found himself absentmindedly playing with the strands as he considered the girl next to him – he found himself fascinated by her and all that she was, quickly seeing how Blaise could bow to her every wish, give in at a smile; in fact Draco hated Blaise, because Blaise could touch her whenever he wanted, she would not forget him as she would Draco. Sighing, he buried his head in the pillow, and hoped that all these strange feelings he was having towards Granger were just a product of too much alcohol, and nothing to do with the little part of his brain that still wanted to keep every boy away from her, and to own her so that she could never be with anyone else, as he was fairly certain that if it was he might have fallen in love with her without even noticing. The angelic boy rolled over, slinging an arm of the girl lying next to him, before drifting into a dreamless sleep; the most peaceful he had had in a while.

* * *

Come morning, Blaise had not managed to find Hermione, and he was bubbling over with worry and anger that she might not be safe or that she might be with someone else. Calming himself, he reasoned that she had probably slept with Pansy since she was in no state to get back up to her dorm. Blaise found Pansy fifteen minutes later when she asked if he had seen Hermione. His heart spasmed. Racing back upstairs, unable to find her body amongst those that littered the carpet, he ripped open the hangings to Theo, then Draco's beds. Theo and Blaise stood frozen at the sight that met them in Draco's bed. Hermione and him were tangled together, neither stirring and both looking as peaceful as either had ever seen them. Quietly Theo went to lead Blaise away, seeing the broken look in his eyes, but Blaise roughly shrugged him off. Nervous for the first time in years, Theo hovered, ready to intercept anything that may happen. Then Blaise lunged. Ripping Draco out of bed, he pulled him downstairs by his arm, intent on beating him until he saw sense for touching his girl, especially knowing what she meant to him. Blaise had ripped into Draco mercilessly, beating him over and over, not caring that the other boy put up no fight, well aware of how wrong he had been, entirely unstopped by Theo's attempts to separate them. The only thing that stopped them was the scream -horrifying and heart stopping. He turned. Hermione stood horrified on the stairs, tears running down her face as she saw Blaise's raised fist and Draco's prone form. Blaise looked down at his hand, then at the blonde boy, and backed away slowly, dropping Draco back to his knees. Blaise fled - the last thing he saw was Hermione cradling Draco in her arms, tears splashing onto his face. Three hearts broke and three paths were set in that moment.


	7. A Spinning World

**Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belong to JK Rowling. Lyrics from The Starting Line – The Best Of Me.

**A Spinning World**

_Here we lay again, on two separate beds, fighting for our lives_

Two more weeks passed in a hazy blur, and it was now May. Blaise had long since realised that his obsession with Granger was not mere infatuation, or like, but rather some sick, twisted love. This thought ate at his insides as he saw how much he had sacrificed for the girl – a girl who could not even look at him in the eye any more. Blaise was sitting alone in his dorm, his roommates avoiding him, even the ever neutral Theo looked at him with a gaze so full of disapproval, whilst Draco would not even bother to acknowledge him, partly because they both knew he had been in the wrong and had probably deserved the beating, partly because Blaise knew that Draco had tasted what he could not have and wanted it more than ever. Theo had not been concerned with either of their emotions, simply exploding one evening as they had glared at each other, and telling them that neither of them were the important ones, that it was Hermione they should be aware of. Blaise knew this was true. Since the scene in the common room, she was even more flighty than usual, getting steadily drunker, and speaking less. The only time she seemed to truly come alive, was when she was with him. The thought of him made Blaise sick - he had actually been sick a few days ago as he replayed that morning when he had found the two looking so cosy together - and his stomach once more clenched at the memory. Shuddering and aching with all the emotion that swirled in his head, Blaise swallowed loudly, digging his fingers into his palms so as to calm himself once more. In the last few days, Blaise had clinically observed that he could barely sleep, that he only pushed his food around, and that he had taken to drinking far more – he wondered if it was something contagious that Hermione had given him, or more likely, if he was simply that obsessed with the girl, needed her that much that it was physically making him sick. His stomach lurched once again, and he laughed bitterly to himself, his hands curling into painful fists as he saw how pathetic he had come, glaring at the weak boy staring back from the mirror, taunting him with his gaunt face. Granger still had him on a leash even though it was apparent that she was disgusted by him, could barely touch him after he had touched her precious Draco like that. Draco had everything, always had, and now he would took what was rightfully Blaise's too; Blaise still could not drum up the anger, just a sick certainty that Hermione, his Hermione, would never speak to him again if he laid another finger on the boy, and that he could not risk that for a minute's satisfaction. Hermione had become his food, his drink, his life – the red of her hair was the fire that ate him up, the hungry gleam in her eye was the need that pounded through him, and the taste of her was the food that sustained him. Blaise was pathetic. Curling up on his bed, he ignored the steady stream of people entering and leaving the room, lying still and refusing food until the skies darkened and his mind finally let him sleep.

* * *

In the common room Draco and Theo were talking. Draco, whilst not as bad as Blaise, was fully aware that it was his fault that things were this way, knew that maybe Hermione would not have deteriorated so quickly if not for the awful scene the night of the party. However, he could not bring himself to stay away from her, he just had to talk to her when he saw her, fought so hard to restrain himself from tasting her once more when he saw her – it had taken two weeks for him to realise that Granger would never be just another girl, that he was falling for her, that it had been inevitable since he had become so plagued with thoughts of her on the train. She was Blaise's though his mind had screamed, yet he did not care – he wanted her, in fact, it was only the fact that to mess around with her could finally be to kill her that kept him from going near her, from ever saying more than two words to her or confessing what he felt. Draco would learn to live without her if it meant she could be saved. Sighing, he turned back to Theo's enquiring gaze. Theo was worried about the blonde boy, and was quite aware that this would hurt him, but right now, Hermione was his main priority, as she always had been; the two fighting boys may not notice, but Hermione was more fragile than they were aware, and it had taken his emotional outburst to show them that it was not either of them who had the right to act the victim. Whilst the two boys had fought over whose heart she wanted, Theo had watched the fight that raged within Hermione's eyes as she watched the pair – opposite even in looks – trying to decide whether to take a chance on her heart, or whether to choose the boy who would love her forever, and had finally decided to talk to the more sane of the two. That's how he had ended up looking at a drawn and pale Draco across the table. The once magnificent boy had paled even further, often leaving even the simplest of tasks to the House deputies and it was driving Theo insane. Finally, he began to speak.

"Draco, mate, I know you and Blaise have got some obsession with 'Mione, but the thing is, if you don't stay away from her, she's only going to get worse – nothing you do will help except leaving her alone. The more involved she is with you, the more she loses herself. I've seen her, and it's killing her to see you and Blaise so messed up – one of you needs to let it go and you both need to carry on as normal, and Draco, mate, you've seen Blaise, he's almost as bad as her, you've got to do this 'cause he sure as hell can't."

Sighing, Draco ran his hand through his hair, breathing in deeply. He knew that Theo spoke the truth and that he would have to let this go, push aside how he felt and act like he always had, with casual disdain and only a half tolerance for her and everything she stood for, knowing that to do anything else could tip the balance even further.

"I know, Theo, but you've never been with her like that. She's not just a girl, something about the way she can just leave you, act like you don't matter at all that makes you want her even more. When she smiles at you, it's like you're the only one in her world, and she kisses you like she has never loved before; Hermione is like no other girl – she's her own and she does what she feels. Everything about her teases you. I spent hours talking with her at that party and she's just as beautiful inside as she out and to be without her is like being with the sun. Mate, it's painful."

The pale boy grimaced. Theo looked at Draco in a new light, never having seen that what Hermione felt for Draco, the burgeoning romance he had seen in her eyes, was reciprocated. Sighing he realised that it would be much more difficult than he had ever considered – this would not just be hurting her, but his two best friends as well. Looking up at the pale boy again, Theo was never more grateful than when he realised that Draco would comply with his request and leave Hermione to recover in peace, that he would sacrifice his own heart for the girl he had hated for so long. Smiling widely Theo clapped the other boy on the back.

"C'mon mate, let's get our brooms and I'll race you to the pitch – I might even let you win this time"

Smiling wanly and feigning tiredness, Draco pulled himself slowly to his feet, suddenly dancing with renewed vigour as he grabbed his broom and raced out the portrait hole, laughing at Theo's shocked face and disgruntled cries. His laughter echoed through the corridors.

* * *

Hermione was once more ensconced in the library, her mind full of blonde haired boys and the night that had changed so much as she tried to focus on the homework she had let slip through her strict three week rule. Sighing she opened another dusty book, this time "Moste Potente Potions", flicking through it for the answers she sought. Recently she had had a change of heart and had decided that she had to snap out of this trance like state, that it was simply uncalled for her to behave this way; Hermione had experienced the same things as everyone else and it was unfair for her to react to such extremes whilst everyone else managed to cope. Now more often than not she had work finished the day it was set, and whilst she had been drinking more in the week after the party, she had not had a drink in five days now. Hermione had even managed to start eating one proper meal a day. It signified a change she felt. The only flaws in her plans were her nicotine addiction and the boys that plagued her mind. Whilst Hermione had managed to curb the boys she slept with, she had not yet managed to stay completely away from Blaise or rid her mind of Draco and how he had made her feel - and the cigarettes? Hermione knew that was something she would probably keep until she thought she was strong enough to give up everything entirely. Smiling happily to herself, Hermione promised that she would force the silly feelings she felt for the blonde Slytherin away out of her mind and would slowly decrease how often she used Blaise. Guiltily she thought of the last few times she had gone to him, entirely unable to look at him aware as she was of what she had been doing and knowing that she could not help but think of the way Draco had held her, how gentle he had been compared to Blaise's raw need. Sighing happily, Hermione once more immersed herself in her work, enjoying the feel of the knowledge that she felt reaching out and calling to her, ignoring anything to do with Draco Malfoy or Blaise Zabini.

* * *

By Friday, Hermione seemed more herself than ever. She glowed as though she had finally started to eat again, and she had not had a drink since the previous Friday, she had even managed to cut down on how much she smoked, and had only visited Blaise twice this week. In fact, instead of spending time alone or with the Slytherins, Hermione had taken to hanging out with her own House, watching Harry and Ron play Wizard's chess, or gossiping with Ginny over the latest styles. Hermione felt more at peace with herself than she had in a while and even decided that she would call a truce with the Slytherins, would still try and remain friends with those who had loved her even at her darkest. Sighing, Hermione leant back in the chair by the fire, gently laughing as Harry as beaten by Ron again and Ron did his patented victory dance round the sofas to show just how happy that made him – needless to say Ron had done that dance a lot since Harry had started playing him.

Glancing over at their curly haired friend, Ron smiled, with the fire casting a warm glow on her and in a baggy jumper and her jeans, she looked so much more like the girl he had once loved, and just as he had hoped, she had managed to pull herself from whatever phase she had gone through just with the support of her friends. Her smile was more open and joyful than it had been since September, and she had long since ceased to disappear with boys she did not know when she was out with them. Everything would fall into place once more. Dancing over to her, he pulled a still laughing Hermione to her feet, making her shriek and try to glare at him as she dropped her book; one puppy dog pout and she broke into a fresh bout of laughter, dancing a silly wobbling waltz with him round Harry, who was pretending to sulk on the floor, eyes dancing with mirth. Ron looked down once more into the girl in his arms, smiling dropping a fraction of an inch as he saw something unexpected in her eyes – for though whilst Hermione thought she was happy, something in her eyes said different. The rest of the evening passed in many silly games and loud chatter, and Ron watched Hermione closely; the girl who sat here was like a cheap replica, exactly the same until you looked closely, and ready to fall apart at any time. He knew that she had horrific dreams, the girls in her dorm had heard her pained whimpers, seen the bags under her eyes when she awoke. Still, if she had gotten this far with their support she could finally find herself again if they carried on, Ron shrugged the worrying thoughts off with that reasoning, and engaged Harry in another noisy game of Exploding Snap even as his mind made a note to keep an eye on Hermione – just in case. Just in case.

* * *

As Hermione lay in bed that night, drifting off to sleep – she was still plagued by horrendous dreams that seemed to lead her towards something unidentifiable but awful, forever she had fallen, hearts that fell from the skies, shadows that threatened to swallow her whole dancing across her eyelids – she contemplated the changes she had reversed in the last few weeks. Once more she was happy and studious, avoiding all manner of wrong doing and behaving as she had before this year, and tried to tell herself she was happy. Then why, had her mind argued, do you not feel as though you fit, as though you are an imposter for the girl that once was? Why is it so hard to suppress your natural instincts and to not go back to Blaise and the parties that made her feel so alive? Why did she not want to be seen as some kind of stuck up prude if it had never bothered her before? And most importantly, why did living like this feel so hollow to her? Hermione knew in her heart of hearts that just as she had resisted dying her hair back and had made excuses as to why she had not entirely quit all those bad habits, that she would never be the girl she was, that she had changed so much it was impossible to get rid of the new girl, she had fallen out of place – it was only a matter of time before that girl was back, and she would dance once more on the cliff's edge. Until then though Hermione was determined that she would be this girl, so sweet and so nice, not give in easily to the temptation of her old life and try to be the way she was when she was happy still. Then the whole world was spinning and falling and once more was Hermione haunted by the girl falling from the window, wings fanning brokenly from her back, only to forget when she awoke once more.

Downstairs two other boys woke in cold sweats, plagued by dreams of red haired girls.


	8. Cracks and Crumbling Walls

**Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics from The Sophomore Attempt – Elisabeth.

**Cracks and Crumbling Walls**

_Sneaking through the back door, heart fell and I knew you needed something_

The noise drew closer, that awful scream, piercing her heart and her mind, a warning to keep running and to never look back. The only other noises were her breathing - so ragged and painful, catching painfully with every step – and the steady thumping of her feet which seemed to reach a crescendo before fading into silence. Belatedly the girl realised that she could no longer hear the steady slap of her bare feet on the harsh ground because she had stopped, slowed until she had come to a stop, physically unable to move any further. Soon her breathing slowed too, but once more she found it impossible to continue. The only noise left now was that horrible scream, now joined by a whirring laugh, one that seemed mechanical and so very cruel to her and it was coming closer – moving so much closer. And she couldn't move. The girl had long ago fallen and now she fought to push herself back, hands bloodied from the fall digging painfully into the rocky ground, yet she dared not wince, dared not make a sound, for fear of the thing that had her running so fast and so far.

Minutes passed, and the noise increased steadily. The girl's limbs had failed her and she sat limp as a ragdoll, her hair (a red so very much like blood she couldn't help but think) splayed out on the ground underneath her, fanned out like some kind of bloody halo. The noise was almost deafening now and she dearly wished to cry, to scream for help in case someone – anyone – could hear her, but it would be far too late. The anguished screams had ceased and she was relieved until she realised that probably meant nothing good for the victim now either left dead or too weak to make any further noise, and neither prospect was attractive. Strangely she no longer felt any fear, her heart beat was a mere whisper and her breathing was deep and even, and subconsciously she wondered if that perhaps meant she was ready to die, prepared to die, all her fear having fled like so many mice from a cat.

It now hours since she had started running and she sat legs crossed, eyes lazily scanning the horizon, and knew it would be mere seconds until she could see the source of the noise that was so obviously coming for her. She smiled. Then she saw it. Her calm broke. The girl knew what this was, it was so much worse than any magical beast, than any person, could do so much worse. This, this thing, was so beautiful yet she knew with sick certainty that that beauty was what hid all its sins. The creature coming for her was herself – admittedly a more beautiful version by far – but it was unmistakeably her: same hair, same eyes, same voice calling so sweetly to her. Bile rose, hot and unbidden in her throat, and she scrambled to her feet, knowing that she had to run, run as far and as fast as she could from herself before it all caught up with her and she had to pay for the sins she had committed. Do the crime; pay the time, her mind taunted.

Turning, she ran, ran hard and fast, lungs burning and legs aching but still the thing moved inexorably closer even though it had not sped up at all. Then she saw it. Saw her saving grace. Calm descended like a mist and she slowed. Nothing could stop her. Nothing ever would. It would be her only escape. Coolly she approached the wall, standing atop of it and looking down, peace written on her face and in her eyes. She had always wanted to fly; this could be her only chance she laughed to herself. Glancing backwards at the thing, she saw it had started to run, panic written across the familiar features at the thought of its victim's escape. Laughing, she jumped.

The world was a blur, colours blending together like a kaleidoscope that spun too fast. The ground seemed to rush up towards her, ready to embrace her, yet still she felt no fear. She could see the creature looking down, so sad, so mournfully, as though she had not wanted to hurt her at all, as though she had been the one trying to save her, whilst this would only hurt her. The falling girl's eyes widened infinitesimally as she realised. A lone tear ran down her cheek as she smiled one last bitter smile before the cruel earth took her.

Hermione woke, legs tangled in a foreign sheet, body shiny with sweat and hair ringing her head like an out of control fire. Shakily, she slipped from the room as she dressed. The boy in the bed, turned to face her retreating form, realising that she would never stay, that he was always just a stopgap between what she was then and what she would become. Hermione and Blaise both remained awake for the next few hours, tears making tracks down both their faces.

* * *

It was mid July now and for the last few months everything had gone well. The sun shone for the five people who had found themselves inescapably and inexplicably tangled at the start of the year: Hermione had put on several pounds and actually made an appearance at most meals, and had studied as hard as ever in exams making Ron laugh at how often she scolded him. Blaise was now acknowledged as Hermione's almost boyfriend and they often strolled through the corridors hand in hand, chatting amiably and happily, and almost no one noticed how her gaze would slide to a certain blonde every so often, or the look that crossed her eyes when his name was mentioned. Almost no one. All in all though, everything was working out well.

Ron had been ecstatic to get "his" Hermione back and he made sure that they would spend at least two nights a week together, mothering her endlessly and always offering her snacks and filling her plate to bursting at dinner time which never ceased to make Harry laugh at the look on Hermione's face, or the way she would have to give up half way through, complaining she might explode. Theo had behaved similarly, although more cautiously being more aware that healing was always a slow process, carrying books and taking her on picnics regularly, always making sure that she knew he was there and being available to study with – overall he was quite pleased with how Hermione had brought herself back. Draco had watched, at first from a distance, as the dead girl had come back to life, colour returning to her cheeks, and a smile becoming something he now associated with her. Soon after she had seemed to recover dramatically, he had struck up a conversation with her, hoping that if he could not have her he could at least be close to her for despite everything he was almost certain that he was in love with the once bane of his life, in fact he knew that somewhere between the night they had slept together and their many conversations, he had become only able to see the way she smiled up at him corners of her mouth turning up, her eyes sparkling with laughter, and the way her hair seemed to dance in the breeze. Nowadays the two were as thick as thieves as the saying goes, they would spend countless hours together talking continuously through the lessons they shared, taking walks across the grounds, or just relaxing in any one of the communal areas. Blaise, whilst very aware of the fact Hermione was in love with his best friend and that his obsession had not waned, was grateful that she had chosen to stay with him and not leave him, and was even more enamoured with the small girl now that she was around more and now that she paid more attention and seemed to be aware of what was going on instead of being locked up in her own mind. Yes, for those four everything was looking very bright.

Hermione on the other hand, whilst appearing so blissfully happy, or at the very least, like any other teenager, was struggling to maintain the charade for much longer. At first it had been easy to force the smile, to nod and agree, to just eat that tiny bit more and pretend, but within a month and a half it had become almost unbearable. No one had told her how hard it was to be something you were not, and she often wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to her that she was faking her entire life now. What had once been weak points in her facade, had escalated into cracks, and now she could feel the walls she had painstakingly erected weaken and crumble beneath the force of her own self.

Swallowing, she sat on her bed. She had not long got back from Blaise's room after having awoken from the horrific dream that had played like a broken record for the last week in her dreams. She shuddered. The worst part was the uncertainty – was the one who ran, the one who killed her, the girl she was pretending to be now, or was it the girl she ran from? Did it mean for her to just be the way she had, because to pretend would kill her? Or was it the reverse? She would probably never know. The only thing Hermione was sure of right now was that she could not pretend for much longer, and that sooner or later, everything would shatter and no one would be safe.

* * *

It was the day that they left school that everything crumbled.

In the weeks leading up to their departure, Hermione had seemed to struggle and falter and everyone had naturally assumed it had been due to the stress of the exams, but the signs had been there for anyone who looked close enough: the number of times she had "visited" Blaise had increased, she had begun to miss meals again, in the mornings she smelt faintly of alcohol, and she was often seen sneaking out well after curfew either to smoke or go to the parties she denied being at. Yes, Hermione had begun to fall.

There was to be a party to celebrate graduation that night in Diagon Alley, almost the entire year were going to rent rooms at the Leaky Cauldron so they could spend one last night together and so they all had somewhere to get ready. Everyone was bubbling with excitement and gossiping loudly about who would go home with who, who would wear what, and other trivial things. Hermione had remained oddly silent on the subject and those who knew her assumed it was because she worried and tried to reassure her that she would pass this test, manage to stop herself from slipping.

BREAK

A chorus of voices and hollow words rang round Hermione's head.

"You'll do fine, you've got this far."

"We're going to be there, so you can't go too far wrong."

"Don't worry, when have you ever failed?"

Each had been delivered in the same cheerful tone, a happy smile plastered to the speaker's face. Oh if only they knew she had smiled bitterly. No, this would not be the night she slipped, this would be night everyone would see how far she had already slipped, and part of her got a sick satisfaction from the guilt that would eat at them knowing they had missed, maybe even ignored, the signs, even as the larger part of her hated that she had once more stooped so low, and that this time she was almost certain she would not stop until the world was burning and she was the only one left standing. Tonight would be a heady high; tomorrow would be the new low.

* * *

The train journey was relatively peaceful, Hermione had smiled and laughed along with the group, making jokes and scolding the boys for their language and blasé attitude to their NEWT results, and soon they had decided to have a Chess tournament and had rounded up most of the Gryffindors in the 6th and 7th years and a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws along with Theo (the only Slytherin) even though everyone knew Ron would surely win as he always had and always would. Hermione had been knocked out by Theo early in the game, and had stayed for several more rounds eventually growing bored and itchy with the need for something, although what she was not sure. Quietly, and unnoticed by everyone, she slid quickly from the carriage to go in search of the something that weighed so heavily on her mind and in her heart.

Eventually she had given up, having walked the corridor several times and still not having found whatever it was she wanted. Sighing, she had stationed herself at a window far from her own carriage to avoid detection and had slid open the window hanging out of it precariously as she sparked up a cigarette, inhaling deeply. In her mind she laughed at the way that despite the changes apparent on the surface, nothing had changed since they had arrived in September because she was still the same when no one could see. Well, or so she thought, as just like in September, a blonde boy silently observed her from the carriage, once more struck by how lean she was and how mystical she looked hidden as she was in a dress that flowed around her in the almost-breeze that slipped in through the window.

Draco stood, deciding to change the scene and to join her at the window. Whilst he did not smoke often, suddenly he felt the need for a cigarette, or maybe just to stand close to her, he was not sure. The closer he got, the more his stomach twisted, and he realised that part of him was scared, scared that finding her like this, like she had been, symbolised that she had come back, the thing that would kill her come back to claim its prize finally. The last months had been like standing on a ticking time bomb and it was only recently he had been able to relax and believe that whatever had held her so tightly before had truly let go. Hermione turned as she heard his door slide open, her face lighting up as she saw him, seemingly entirely unaware of the parallels of her situation.

Together they stood, both smoking, breathing deep languid breaths in and letting the smoke curl almost artistically from their mouths, only a few words being spoken, his left side and her right pressed together as though the contact made up for the lack of words, and for them it did. When they were together, both felt as though nothing could touch them, that nothing ever would, and Draco ached at the realisation that he was probably the one who stopped them from becoming anything more than this "maybe".

Eventually, Hermione had stopped lighting up, realising that she need not waste her entire supply on the train journey, and had turned to him, suddenly full of the need to tell him everything before he had chance to find out the hard way, and to say the words that she could never say once she had entirely been swallowed by the thing that lurked so ominously in her mind now, always ready to hurt her and everything around her. Swallowing, Hermione looked down, taking a deep breath as the angel she had come to love looked at her, his face a picture of concern and intrigue. Breathing in, she said the only thing she could.

"I will always love you, and I'm sorry for everything."

Then she was gone leaving the boy standing frozen in the corridor, broken beyond belief as he knew that he had been right, that the beast was back, and that the fact she had told him meant that she would probably never be back, never be the girl who had sat next to him in the library teasing him for spelling things wrong or being so very, very lazy. The three words he ached to say back fell heavily into the silence that hung around him.

"I love you."

The three words that she would never know. With a heavy heart and a full mind he stepped back into his compartment, knowing that they had failed to save her, and full of resolve to honour her unspoken last wish – to not tell the others, to leave her to pass by in peace. Hermione Granger was truly gone now.

* * *

Hours later, long after Hermione had returned to her own compartment to see Ron utterly thrash his sister, winning the tournament and dance happily round and round the small space, and everyone had returned to their own carriage, Draco being rejoined by his usual friends, Hermione stood in her room hands fidgeting and nervous as she stood in front of her wardrobe for the night. Tonight would be the night her life changed irrevocably, and what she wore could have a massive effect. How silly she sounded, she had thought, but it was true. Dressing modestly would hide what was happening but could also hinder the "fun" she had whilst dressing as she had last summer and at the start of the year would set warning bells ringing and her surprise would be ruined but she could have the maximum amount of fun.

In the end she decided that she might as well go out with a bang, fuck surprises. Hermione would dress how she wanted - turn up and show them what she had, what she could do. Smiling, she slipped the dress over her head, and slipped on her shoes. She had already showered and done her hair and make-up and she felt powerful, as though she was a fire on the rampage and nothing could stop her. Stepping from the door, she made her way to the club they had rented for the night, delicious satisfaction and excitement washing through her body making her tingle, fully aware of the stares that followed her figure as it strutted down the street, hips swinging, looking dangerous and predatory and so hauntingly beautiful.

Smiling one last cat like smile, and winking at one of the more attractive punters in the pub a few doors down, Hermione drew to a stop outside the club. The bass was her heartbeat now and she could hear the music drifting from the window, drawing her in, its melody beckoning to her. Still she stood there for a few seconds longer as she felt a flash of something unfamiliar, something she thought was probably regret. Her smile was almost sad as she finally stepped inside, one last sombre thought flickering into her mind before she lit the fuse to this bomb.

Every fire has to burn out sometime.

Then the doors swung shut behind her, and she lost in the sea of writhing bodies, once more a demon set loose, hell bent on tasting destruction on last time.

**A/N:** I know it's a strange place to cut off but it is because the party is a key part to the story and the characters will obviously react it would be fairly long and to keep the chapter size consistent, I've decided to move it to the next chapter.


	9. Lost

**Disclaimer:** Characters, setting etc belongs to JK Rowling. Lyrics from Motion City Sound Track – Always Running Out Of Time.

**Lost**

_Always watching out for which's and whether's, always running out of time_

The party was loud, Weird Sisters blaring loudly over the sound of a hundred sweaty bodies and chattering voices moving through the room. A large patch of the floor was dedicated to the dancers, sinuous bodies intertwined with each other so much so that Hermione could barely tell where one body ended and another started. Most people, especially the girls, were skimpily clad, wearing dresses so short and tight as to almost be obscene and Hermione was almost entirely sure many of these people, full of the heady rush of their impending freedom and with firewhiskey bubbling through their veins like some sort of toxic fire, would not go home alone tonight. Smiling devilishly, she began to make her way through the crowds, slipping easily between people, a few of her classmates giving her looks somewhere between awe and shock, and for that she was not surprised. This girl barely got to go out, let alone in front of this many people. It was time to have some fun.

* * *

Across the room, Blaise stared hungrily, Hermione, as always, had drawn his eye like a moth to a flame. Beneath the strobe lights, she looked almost ethereal, hair glinting like fire and skin almost translucent whilst her eyes seemed to smoulder in their sockets. Unlike many of the girls she had not gone for the classic party look – there were no spangles, no sequins, no neon colours, and certainly not massive amounts of jewellery draped over her. No, Hermione looked far better than that. Her dress, whilst short was still classy, the material draping over her perfectly, the neckline falling ever so slightly off the shoulder. The room blurred around her, swirling into a mess of colours, Hermione growing clearer and sharper in his mind. Blaise was truly caught, he felt like he had to go to her, had to touch her, be with her because without her he would surely just wither away.

Next to Blaise, Draco snorted. It was ever so obvious to him that Blaise was looking at Granger; he was never this alive except when he looked at her. At that thought his heart twinged, very aware of how unrequited his obsession was and how whilst Hermione would surely find Blaise at some point, she would not venture near him, determined to avoid him after their talk on the train. Lazily, and reluctantly he let his eyes drift to the object of Blaise's affections and swallowed. He wanted to cry. It was the final proof that everything he had known her to be was truly gone, that she would never, could never return to him as a part of him prayed she would. Whilst she was beautiful, her dress was slightly too revealing, her hair slightly too red, and her walk slightly too predatory for the girl he loved; no, this was not his Hermione because she was too lost to find her way back anymore.

* * *

Theo was at the bar as the girl strolled in, and he felt his eyes hungrily assessing her as surely every red blooded male's were but when she turned and smiled, his heart caught. It was Hermione – or at least someone who looked very similar. This girl did not smile, she smirked, her only grace was that of a large cat, and all she would do was use you. This was a clone, or so he hoped, because otherwise he was fairly sure that all his hard work over the last few months had just been ruined and he had failed, perhaps for the first time in his life. Shaking his head and deep in thought Theo moved back towards his friends, noting almost absentmindedly that whilst Blaise seemed to not notice the difference, Draco just looked forlorn, and oddly unsurprised. Very strange, his mind concluded before it slipped back into unchartered territory of what to do next.

* * *

Several hours had passed by now and neither Ron nor Harry had seen hide nor hair of Hermione. Sighing both of them turned to scan the room once more hoping that she was just immersed in discussion with some person or another and not that she had forgotten or decided that she could not handle this. Harry's startled grunt made Ron turn, and there she was, the girl who had just occupied his thoughts. Hermione was in the centre of the dance floor with a fairly inebriated Ravenclaw – Terry Boot maybe? – and they were half dancing, half trying to have sex. Harry had gone a funny red colour and looked ready to smack someone, and Ron marvelled that it was almost ironic that normally this would have been the other way round and he, Ron, would be the one who had to be calmed. As Harry took a step towards the pair Ron grabbed him by the sleeve, effectively pulling him back.

"Listen mate, I know it's not right but we're going to sort this in some other way than slapping the prat, Hermione will just get angry with us, you know that. C'mon let's just go get drinks and relax, ok?"

Harry grunted in response and Ron took that as a yes and led him over to the bar where he promptly downed several shots of whatever liquor he could get his hands on before slumping into a seat, Harry's messy hair even messier from the number of times he had run his hands through it in the last two minutes. Watching Hermione again, Ron could see that they had moved from the dance floor to a quiet corner and sickly wondered what exactly she was doing and how many people she would do it with tonight. He had to avert his eyes as he saw them kiss, Terry's hands slipping lower down Hermione's back, bile rising in his throat hot and bitter.

As he sat staring at his glass, Ron wondered what this meant; he had honestly thought Hermione was better or at least getting there. How on earth had she gone so downhill so fast? There must have been signs, maybe signs that he missed, not wanting to believe them and he cast his mind back over the previous months, rage building as he thought of all the little things he had ignored so desperate to believe they meant nothing and that Hermione was fine, that she would always be fine now. He couldn't count how often he had seen her in the mornings, eyes red, make up streaked across her face, or how often she had slipped away from meals or simply not turned up, even the fact that she seemed to travel in a haze of smoke should have meant something to him. Well now he knew and he would not let it go – not this time – they would talk to her, make her see sense. Tonight.

* * *

Hermione had finished with Terry and went to seek out Blaise. She had felt his gaze hot and exciting on her back, and knew that he needed her, that he would do as she said, and tonight, full of inexplicable rage at the world and feeling cruelty ooze from her skin, she decided that she would have some fun with him. Earlier, in preparation she had picked up a little treat, a treat from the muggle world, and he would be taking it with her, before he watched her toy around with every other boy but him – yes Blaise would pay for her friend's ignorance and the viciousness of a world that could do this to someone. Once what had been as escape from the war that had so haunted her, was now just a sick obsession, something she had to do to feel alive and someone had to pay. It was sick – just like her.

Taking Blaise by the hand she led him out the back door, scourgifying the flat lid of a bin with distaste. Pulling a packet of white powder and a straw from somewhere in her dress she smiled up at Blaise, carefully setting the powder into four thin lines whilst he watched on in puzzlement. Then she snorted one, sniffing delicately and taking in a startled breath as she came up for air and offered him the straw. Hesitantly Blaise went to protest but she silenced him with a lingering kiss and, with shaking hands, he copied her, inhaling the next line, coughing harshly as he did. Hermione laughed, the laughter ringing cruelly through the alley. Blaise wanted to move away, move back from the look in her eye, the vicious sting in her voice that had gone undetected by him for so long. How had he not seen what she was? Advancing on him, Hermione kissed him once more, and Blaise gave in, instantly lost in her once more. They finished the other two lines, and it was with shame and regret that Blaise fucked her in that dark alley that night, knowing that even as she became a beast that would stalk his dreams he could not stop loving her, would still do anything she said. As soon as they were done, as she always had before, Hermione left him with one last catlike grin over her shoulder. Probably off to find another victim Blaise thought as tears burned under his eyelids and with pain coursing through him like a river. Blaise knew he would never escape; he would drown in this "love".

Slowly, he followed her back inside, feeling smothered and sick by the stench of sweat and sex that hung in the air like a cloud, but unable to leave. Unbidden he sought out Hermione, heart thumping painfully, taunting him as he saw her already dancing – if that was what you could call it – with someone he did not recognise. Hermione caught his eye over the guys shoulder, smiling cruelly and blowing him a kiss, too lost in her world of hate and pain to notice anything other than the satisfaction she got from making people hurt as much as she did, oblivious to the lost look in Blaise's eye, the measure pace at which he forced himself to rejoin his friends, fighting the urge to turn and flee from this place, from whatever she had given him, and most of all, from her.

* * *

It was now three in the morning, and everyone had begun to stumble home. The night had not passed quietly, Blaise had finished the coke with Hermione who seemed intent to kiss every boy there right in front of him and now Hermione was curled up alone in a booth with Blaise who was once more caught in her web of deception and bittersweet kisses, whilst Ron, Harry, Theo and Draco sat at the opposite booth all wearing different expressions. Harry was like a fire cracker tonight, the alcohol fuelling his rage, whilst both Ron (surprisingly) and Theo seemed both determined and forlorn, with Draco just staring blankly at the wall to the left of Hermione.

Eventually Ron spoke up, his voice dipped in characteristic anger that he had not shown on his face.

"This has to stop. Bloody hell, it's ridiculous, she can't just keep running around like some, some common whore!"

Harry steamed silently behind him, although some of the anger seemed to have left his sails, leaving him look almost deflated, before he too piped up, hand once more running through his hair.

"Ron's right. After Voldemort she just hasn't been the same. Hermione's like a sister to me and I just can't sit by and let this happen. Not again."

Thoughtful as ever, Theo was next to contribute, voice measured and calm despite the tension he held in his body and face.

"I suggest that we try an intervention. Our support, unvoiced, didn't work. Maybe she needs to see what she's doing and what it's doing to everyone else."

The three now all turned to Draco expectantly, thinking he would agree, or scoff at their idea, offering up a better one, but his face remained blank, even though his eyes were storm clouds at sea, and his hands were bunched into fists so tight the knuckles would surely break the skin soon. Eventually, as the silence dragged on, he spoke, voice hoarse and broken.

"She won't listen, she doesn't care. You'll just have to let her go, she's not the same anymore, I don't think she can be. She's said as much already. Just, just let it go. You'll only make it worse."

With that he went to leave, only halting as he realised that the others would not simply leave it, and were now discussing the best way to approach her. That's how it came to be that Draco found himself trailing the other three boys, their shoulders set determinedly, towards Hermione's table, despair swirling inside him and threatening to swallow him whole.

* * *

Hermione looked up as the four boys ringed the table, trapping her and Blaise, who did not seem all that lucid – she snorted mentally at the dazed look on his face - turning back to the boys, arching her eyebrow in annoyance at the interruption. Then the voices hit and she felt anger bubbling up, bittersweet in her stomach, fury burning a dark path through her heart. They had no right to do this, to not let her live her life, to criticise and tell her what to do, how to behave. Hissing, she silenced the boys with a glare so acid they all took a step back involuntarily - except Draco, the only one she knew who had not said a word, and who continued to regard her coolly. Hermione could not look at him, could not let him break her tonight so she focused on the other three, forcing the anger to spill forth like a flood.

"You three are pathetic. This is my life; I have the right to do what I want. Not one of you, not one, bothered to see that I was not happy, that I could not be that girl anymore because it was what made you happy. Now you have no right to change anything about me because you're only doing this because you think you should, not for any other reason than your own guilt. It's sick. You make me sick."

The boys shrank back further, shock dawning on their faces at the harsh words and the spite with which she spat them out. The words were fiery whips, slicing into them. Her eyes burned dangerously, hair crackling viciously, as raw power seemed to dance along her skin, prickling them. The she turned her gaze to Draco, eyes losing half their fire, and voice deflating. No more was she a demon, but a girl, a girl too small and too lost for the world she lived in.

"Draco, why did you let them? You know as much as I do that this is over, that I'm done. Maybe I'm just done with the life I led, maybe I'm just done with you, either way, something's ending. Why make it worse? I won't apologise because I don't need to. Look, I'm just not interested in this anymore. Leave it alone."

The boys began to talk once more, stuttering and stumbling over their words, but Hermione simply silenced them with a hand as she slid from the booth, pulling Blaise behind her, not once looking back at the four boys staring gobsmacked at where she had sat, bitter guilt rising up, forcing all the fight from their bodies. They knew it was over.

* * *

That night, even as she fucked Blaise once more, Hermione could not shake one thing from her mind. The way Draco had looked as she had told him what she had been trying to say to him on the train. His eyes had shuttered, gone blank, but just for a moment she had seen something that broke her; his eyes were liquid silver, imploring, begging, and breaking which each word she had let fall from her poisonous lips. Maybe if things had been different, if she had more time to fix herself, if the world did not spin too fast, if she wasn't always moving, she could have made his eyes smile, shine with something other than bitter sorrow, something other than defeat. Swallowing thickly and glad Blaise was asleep, Hermione clenched her eyes shut determined to not cry, to not be weak. Biting her lip, she regained her composure, slipping from the bed, and donning a robe over her underwear, she went to the balcony, pulling the doors shut silently behind her. Recklessly she swung her legs over the railings, perching precariously on them, smoking, lost in the sizzle of the tobacco in the silent night, mesmerised by the moon, so constant and pure, removed from the horrors of the world whilst she was caught in the dark belly of the night, never to reach the light that shone so strongly above her. No matter how high she reached it would never be enough. She would never be enough. It was this thought that span in her head for the remaining hours that she sat, watching the moon sink slowly, replaced by the harsh glare of the sun as it bled so red across the land, before she returned inside just before five, once more feeling hard and heartless.

* * *

For the rest of the summer, Hermione continued much as she had on the night of her graduation party, spinning haphazardly from one thing to another, never stopping as she was so used to. Party fell into party fell into party until they were all the same. All she could feel was the burn of the alcohol sliding down her throat, the haze of drunkenness fogging her mind, the sharp tang of smoke in her lungs, the prickling sensation of the drugs she took, and the hands that roamed her body so freely and harshly. There was nothing more to her world now. Hermione did not see anyone but Blaise from school, she ardently avoided them, partly out of bitter regret, partially because she knew it was too late to save her, and she couldn't watch them break watching her fall.

Hermione was faded, a symphony of pastels, a fallen angel disguised as a demon. She was simply a girl too small for this world, too lost for those who loved her save her. Hermione Granger would never find her way back again.


	10. Forever In Black And White

**Disclaimer: **Character's setting, etc belong to JK Rowling. Lyrics from Acceptance – Outside.

**Black and White Forever's**

_We settle this tonight, for every single mistake we made_

The air was cool, the night haunting, as the pair ran barefoot, stumbling and laughing through the corridors, clothes whipping in the breeze. The atmosphere shifted slightly and suddenly the laughter rang false, too high and the boy grew scared, blood freezing in his veins. This was no longer two running together, but a horrifying chase. She was always just that few steps ahead, taunting him as he caught flashes of her round corners. She was halfway up the stairs to the astronomy tower now, and his heart suddenly started again, violently beating in his chest.

"Hermione"

Breathless, the boy called after her, pleading with her to slow down, to wait, but she laughed, the sound hollow to his ears. His fear deepened. Something horrific would happen, something truly horrifying, and he would see it, and nothing could stop it. Whatever would happen tonight was inescapable, with sickening certainty Blaise knew that the entire year had been leading up to this one awful night. They had truly outdone themselves tonight, drank more than they ever could before, smoked everything going, he was even sure he'd seen Hermione take something that glittered like poison from someone deep in the corner of that party. His mind swam with fear and alcohol. Hermione had truly slipped now, and they knew it. Not only would she have never broken into school before, the place now devoid of life, but she would never have been so reckless, so stupid. It was dangerous up here, and there was no one to hear if something was to happen. Then again, maybe that was how she had planned it. Trembling, he darted up the last few stairs to find her sitting placidly on the window sill and his heart calmed. With shaking hands he took the proffered cigarette, watching her steadily from the corner of his eye and wondering if it was too late to call for help, if she would notice. They smoked in silence, the ends of the cigarettes the only light. Just as he went to pull out his wand to send a message, she spoke, startling him, and his hand slipped from his wand which clattered to the floor. Cringing, he turned to her.

"Do you ever wonder what people will find once you're dead? Maybe death could be the great revealer."

Uneasily, he fixed his eyes onto hers, taking a step back when he saw how devoid they were of anything, he started to mumble something that could rectify this complete loss of self, but she cut him off, laughing cruelly at his mumblings, her eyes now full of a cruelty he knew she did not truly possess.

"I never loved you, you know, it was always him."

Clenching his hands tightly, Blaise tried to push away what she had said, push away the truth he had seen coming for so long – for it was surely the truth, nothing could ever change it - no matter how hard he'd tried. Blaise knew then that she would never, could never, love someone like him. She was Draco's. Bitterly, he resigned himself to losing the first woman he had ever truly loved. His heart had finally shattered, maybe irrevocably, but he would force himself to carry on because Hermione needed him. This was the final moment; she would either fall or fly. Breathing steadily he moved towards her, but her words pierced him like a knife, and he only ended up further away than before.

"Don't touch me"

It was not her being cruel, she was not angry anymore, just so heart wrenching lost and broken, that it made him sick. Her flawless mask finally lay on the floor, cracked beyond repair. His eyes clenched shut tightly, and he swallowed, sensing her watching him. Determinedly, he strode over to the ledge, knowing that this was not a joke, not something that could ever be redone. This was final. Gently he took her face in his hands, and told her. Told her everything he had wanted to say since he realised that he had fallen for her. Told her how she made his days light up, told her how she was perfect to him, told her that without her something inside him would die.

Something in her eyes flickered, and her barriers came crashing down. Blaise went to move away, defeated, but she called out to him and he automatically moved back to her, like a dog with its master. He hated himself for it. Tenderly, she leant forward towards him, as though to whisper in his ear, and heart soaring he allowed her to pull him close, close enough to feel her warm breath ghosting his cheek. Blaise savoured it.

"Blaise..."

Her voice was breathy, and he felt his heartbeat race, felt the familiar need rise up inside him. Despite the dreadful feeling swirling around the pair, Blaise succumbed, and soon they were all over each other, hands everywhere. Hermione had n ever been so passionate, and this gave him hope. Her hands tugged viciously at his hair, and when he finally entered her, right there on the window, she made the most delicious sound. Leaning back in, she spoke again.

"Blaise, oh my love, how pathetic can you get? You know I don't love you, that I never loved you. Yet still, you fuck me; follow me like a puppy with no home, at a single word. Does it make you feel dirty that something as filthy as me can do this to you?"

He let out a strangled moan as she voiced his greatest weaknesses and deepest fears, but she would not let him pull away, would not let him stop, and he could never resist. He was as pathetic as she had said. Something tore inside him, and he pushed himself into her more forcibly eliciting another moan before she continued to taunt him.

"Oh god, although you were always good for a quick fuck. Do you want to know how many other boys I've been with? Want to know that every time I was with you, it was his face I saw, his name that I had to bite my lip to avoid saying? You were nothing Blaise. Nothing."

She came, this time not bothering to not call out for his best friend. With a gasp, he finished seconds later, whispering broken I love yous and desperately hating that, despite her cruel words, he wanted more and would still stay with her forever. He so wanted to believe that she did not mean a word of it, that it was all lies, but he knew it was the most honest she had been with him; Blaise was certain of one thing though, that this broke her as much as it broke him. Hermione had never been cruel, never wanted to hurt without reason. For her to be so frank, so heartless, showed him how much she truly needed something, someone, and, if he could, he would be that someone.

Hermione felt so awful, for she could not deny that whilst her words rang true, he had never been nothing, never not meant something to her. Maybe she could not love him, but he had been there, tried to do everything she wanted, be anything she needed, when no one else would. Maybe it was because of him that things had gotten so bad, or maybe without him she would have reached this point much sooner. She would never know now. Everything had been set, and despite what Blaise thought, there was to be no last minute reprieve, no miracles; fate had set her this course and she could do nothing but move inexorably towards the conclusion, even if she did not yet know what that would be. The sickened feeling in her stomach increased tenfold as she thought of the conclusion, and with horrifying clarity, she realised that she had known all along, known from the moment she had forgone that last chance for help, that this is how it would end. The dreams, those words, that music. It was all so obvious now. Hermione let out something between a choked sob and a laugh. Unnerved, Blaise once again moved towards her, but she flinched back, as though burned. Sadly he stepped back once more. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. Hermione was lost to him, and that he could do nothing more. Bending to get his wand to call the one person who could save her, he heard her voice so fragile in the cold August air (Hermione subconsciously registered it as being exactly one year since she had sat alone under another August sky by the Burrow).

"Please, don't."

He looked at her, his eyes so full of something, something unidentifiable, which snapped her heart in two. His gaze questioned why she had begged him not to. Hermione answered, understanding what he was really asking.

"There is no future for me. I have lost all passion for this life; I do not care for it. I have done everything I have wanted, completed the list of things I set out to do in this life – nothing could ever make me happy. As a great friend once said, "death is the next great adventure" and I must agree with him now. I cannot bear to grow up, grow old in a world so imperfect. It would simply kill me; kill me more torturously than any other curse ever could. To me, to carry on living, to carry on pretending, would be to die - this, this, would save me. I refuse to rely on others, become a case of pity, because I did not have the courage my house is so renowned for to stand up for my convictions, fulfil my promises. To fear fear, is to fail, Blaise. "

Blaise went to speak, to argue, to ask about what would her friends do, to ask about a career, a family, but Hermione interrupted, reading his mind once more.

"I do not want a family, I could never love them and protect them in this world, not when I cannot do that for myself – and how can I uphold a career I do not care about? Blaise, look at me, really, truly look at me. Will it not hurt everyone I love more to see me waste away, than if it's done, sorted forever in just a few seconds?"

Once again, Blaise was floored by her logic. There was no grey area for her, the world was black and white, stark and cold. He truly looked at her for the first time in months, looking past what he wanted to see and he was horrified. She was so frail now, her bones protruded almost comically, she was little more than skin and bones, her body would surely break with a single stumble. Her eyes, once so warm and full of life, were dull, flat and dark, huge in her tired face and rimmed with circles dark enough to rival the sky, her lips a dusky blue, as though she was truly made of ice, her skin was translucent, and the veins that webbed beneath it shone through clearly. Her hair was the only thing that had not seemed to deteriorate, surrounding her like a halo. Hermione looked like she had already died, too far gone to be resurrected. To him, she was an angel, her hair as a halo, the strands shining copper and gold in the light from the moon, the rest of her a stark contrast of shadow and light, a true fallen angel. With stark realisation, Blaise realised that he would let her do this, as much as he hurt. Hermione would just fade from existence, and she should not be remembered that way. Hermione needed to be remembered for what she was, not what she became. Swallowing, and voice cracking, he uttered seven last words.

"I will always love you, you know"

The words that she had said to Draco just over a month ago - her heart shattered irreparably.

Her sad smile was all he needed before he spun on his heel, sharply darting back down the spiralling staircase, not stopping until his breathing was ragged, his eyes burning fiercely and his chest filled with a feeling so awful he thought he could happily have gouged out his own heart if it meant he could escape that pain forever. Fresh pain lanced through him as he realised what would happen, what she would do right now, and he was hit with the realisation that he could not let her do this, could not the love of his life just end it all like that, could not willingly let her go, as selfish as it was. Moving faster than ever before, he heard her voice, lilting and resounding as she sang high in the tower above, calling to him. Accelerating he pushed himself up to the top of the stairs, gasping, and panting, her haunting voice drawing closer with each step, and reassuring him he was not yet too late. The wind increased, whipping everything into a frenzy. Her voice grew into a crescendo then dropped into silence, and frantic he barged into the room. Heart pounding, he finally located what he was looking for.

Hermione stood, silent and small as a doll on the ledge. Her feet were bare on the cold stone but she did not feel it, her eyes closed serenely as though seeing a different scene. Her hair, red as blood, whipped around her in the wind, lashing at her face and piercing the air with colour. Her skin was pure snowy white against her black dress. The ragged ends of this dress, so unusual for a party, tangled themselves around her ankles, billowing and beckoning in the breeze. Her pale shoulders, exposed to the harsh night, swayed gently as though dancing to a tune only she could hear. Blaise watched, frozen and captivated. She was beautiful, awe inspiring, and so terribly powerful. He could not help but feel he could never touch her, never reach her, for she was so beyond him, or anyone on this earth. Then her eyes snapped open. Those eyes, normally such a warm honey colour, shone almost green in the light, so foreign and untouchable. Lips curving into an elated smile, she raised a hand to her mouth. Blowing Blaise a lingering kiss, she stretched her arms out by her sides, tilting her head back so her face was bathed in moonlight, and smiling the most joyful smile he had seen in almost a year, Hermione leant back. Her form seemed to hang there, suspended, for several moments as though frozen like a snapshot on a muggle camera. Blaise screamed her name, voice hoarse, but she was gone within the blink of an eye, as though caught in the wind and taken from him before he could do anything about it.

Down on the grounds, another boy, one ruing the fact that this could no longer be called his home, strolled morosely. His hair shone white gold in the pale light, his skin almost the same colour, eyes a flinty grey, surveyed the sky. He stood gazing at the astronomy tower, his sanctuary for so many years, before his eye caught movement. A silhouette, clear against the starry sky, seemed to float, the figure angelic, as it rushed towards the ground. The person, no, girl, he quickly identified, would catch herself soon enough he thought. She was a scant ten metres from the ground before he realised, horrified, that she would not catch herself, because she did not want to. This tiny figure, so angelic, was falling to its death. Draco Malfoy could not find his wand, hands fumbled in his pockets. His heart froze as he heard a muffled thump and a gentle sigh seemingly carried on the breeze as though in recognition of the girl who had fallen so far. Looking up slowly from desperately searching for his wand, he heard a familiar voice, screaming a familiar name. Recognising the voice, he looked towards the figure. That voice was Blaise's, and that broken sound only came from the loss of something you loved. With trepidation and something unknown bubbling in his stomach, he moved towards the prone figure. His heart stopped as he caught a glimpse of red hair gently being tugged by the wind, but it did not truly break until he reached the girl lying so peacefully in the grass as though merely sleeping. It was Hermione, his Hermione. Her dress still fluttered gently, as though trying to pull her back into life, and in death, she looked more alive than she had in life. Her skin no longer seemed so pale, her lips seemed redder, her eyes more peaceful. Even in death Hermione smiled up at him, as though with a secret he would never now know. Hermione had finally done what he had always known she would and a part of him was relieved she had finally escaped. Looking up, he saw Blaise leaning from the window, staring horror-struck at the girl. Around the two grieving figures, the night grew silent, all noise stopping, clouds cleared and the sky shone with stars as it had not for weeks, and the air grew fractionally warmer as the world grieved with them.

Days later, sun shining, birds singing, and sky blue, a gathering, one of the largest ever seen, could be found on the Hogwarts grounds. No one wore black, and though tears were shed, everyone wore smiles, for that was how she would want it. Hermione might have been gone, but she had left so much, and for that no one would forget, would let anyone else forget, who she had been and what she had given up for them. Maybe they could not understand how it had ended this way, but each knew that she would have done the right thing, not for selfishness, or emotion, but because it was logical. That knowledge brought little peace to those present, but it would forever comfort them in their darkest time. It was with sad smiles, and heavy hearts, that they buried Hermione Granger that day, sinking her casket deep into the earth in a clearing hidden in the Forbidden Forest where only those who were worthy could ever find her place of eternal slumber. They left roses as red as her lips, lilies as white as her skin, and orchids as black as her dress. With one last glance, the party turned from the beautiful grave, and traipsed silently back to civilisation, determined that Hermione would forever live. After all, to be eternal was not to be immortal.

_Believe that every drop you bleed,  
Could never satiate the hunger that eats at me,  
Could never save what you from what you have seen.  
Arms wide, outstretched and open wide,  
Throw me to this ever constant darkness.  
Keep secrets that I can't hide.  
What is done can never change.  
All your words just make this harder._

_Release me, just leave me,  
Release me._


	11. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **Characters, settings etc belong to JK Rowling. Lyrics from Acceptance – So Contagiously.

**Epilogue**

_Could this be out of line to say you're the only one breaking me down like this_

**15 Years Later...**

Harry and Ginny had been married for almost fourteen years, and had had four children and were expecting another, so far anyway. Albus Frederick, Lily Nymphadora, James Severus, Hermione Jane, and the soon to be born Remus, had been named for those lost by the war. To them, each child had been made possible by those who had sacrificed themselves, and so each should be honoured accordingly. Although they missed Hermione terribly, they had learnt to accept what had become of her, and visited regularly to talk to her, even if she could never respond. They had loved her as though she were a sister, and it pained them that the woman who would have been godmother to their children would never even see them smile now, each day that they looked t their youngest daughter a stark reminder of the loss. Hermione, or Hermie as she insisted, took after their friend unwittingly, with a passion for reading and an opinion on everything, even though the two would never meet, and she could not have even been aware of the girl who had been so much a part of their lives all those years ago. Today was the anniversary of Hermione's death, and as they had every year since, they visited early in the morning to lay fresh lilies, as pure as she had been, on the grave. This year they had decided to bring their children so they could get to know their "Aunt 'Mione". It was with heavy hearts and tears sparkling in their eyes that they once again bade their friend goodbye.

Ron found the Potter family standing at the grave as he arrived with his own family. Whilst Hermione had been his first love, he perhaps better than most, understood that she would not want them to hold on to what had been, but to move on and live as though she were still with them, and that's why, a scant eighteen months after her funeral, he had married after a whirlwind romance to Luna Lovegood. Maybe it had been unexpected to most, but to him, it was natural; Luna made him smile, took an interest in Quidditch, loved children, and was never one to shy away from what was right. It was no surprise to anyone, however, that they had surpassed even the Potter's, and had already had seven children. Percy was the eldest, followed by the triplets – Molly, Arthur, and Rose, then, shockingly, the twins – Fred and George (which delighted George no end), and finally Xenophilius. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Luna was also pregnant, though not noticeably, and they planned to call their child Hermione in honour of her, even if it had already been done. The couple had agreed that she had been important enough, and deserved to be truly remembered, even if it would be a little strange later on for the children. That was how it came to be that fifteen people came to be standing at the tomb. The white lilies were joined by black orchids – Ron felt they aptly described Hermione's black and white view of the world. They stood for several more minutes, the children respectfully silent, before turning to leave, Ron confirming that they would in fact be round later for the annual memorial Hermione's friends held. Hermione had given so much and it was with an eager joy with which they gave something back.

* * *

Blaise sat in his darkened room, his head recovering from another night out on the town. With a stab of pain, he realised it was that time of year again, and realised that the house elves had probably already taken flowers by now – red for all the love she carried – to her grave as he could never quite face it. He always got incredibly drunk the night before, although abstaining on the actual day out of respect, to try and forget the girl who plagued his dreams. Unlike the others, Blaise had never married, and probably never would. Blaise went from girl to girl, never sustaining anything meaningful, and never having had more than a passing fancy for any girl but Hermione. Every girl he was with could never measure up to what she had been, and it was her face that haunted him, her that he still ached for, still itched to touch. Blaise doubted that this would ever change, and often wondered if he would have the guts to follow the girl who occupied his mind into death, but every time he shrank back knowing she would be so disappointed in him, could imagine the sad look in her eyes. Groaning he slid back under the covers, tiredly calling for his house elf to bring the owl. Hastily he scrawled a note to inform Ginny that he would attend the meal as he had every year, before slipping back into blissful sleep until he had to rise once more. Yes, Blaise would remember Hermione, he could never forget the only girl he could ever capture his heart.

* * *

The evening was dusky, and they had to set up several warming charms to keep the air warm enough for the guests. This was one of the only nights when the children would not be forced to go to bed early, and could run gleefully through the candles floating in the breeze whilst the adults fondly reminisced about their old friend. When the children grew up, it was common knowledge that they would hear stories of their Aunt 'Mione, and that they would carry on the tradition even if they forgot why, in remembrance and respect for the girl who touched so many so deeply. That night was no different, the seven adults, and fifteen children crowded the Potter's home and garden, laughing raucously, and refusing to be anything other than joyful – this was a celebration more than a memorial and they would not treat it as anything but that. However whilst the Potter's and Weasley's had flourished, Blaise seemed more gaunt and haunted with every year that passed, and Draco more distant. Yes, Draco faithfully came every year with his wife Astoria and their two children, Scorpius and Mya. Despite the obvious failings for two of the party's present, the night was a success, everyone laughing and sharing stories of their beloved friend. It was late before they started to leave, and soon the Potter's home slipped into darkness, and the night moved on.

* * *

Draco never visited her grave in the day, he knew she preferred the night, and that it would have made her smile that beautiful smile to know that he remembered; he even brought her favourite flowers – daisies, because they reminded her of Summer, and she had been a summer girl, his summer girl. Smiling, he sank down before the tomb, missing her so much he ached, wondering if he had told her before how much he had loved her, still loved her, or been there more instead of letting her continue on, she would have been his wife, and he would not feel so disgusted with himself every time he looked at his wife, let alone touched her. To have married again felt like betrayal, and every time he visited he would apologise so sorrowfully, hair glinting as it always had in the moonlight as he bowed his head. Some nights he imagined that the breeze that ruffled his hair, was her, ruffling it as she had in life, and that the birds singing was her singing as she had always done when she thought she was alone. Perversely, being here made him happy, knowing he was once again alone with her and that no one could mock or doubt the love he still felt for her. Hermione had been his only one, and now he had no one. Sighing, he checked his watch and dusted down his clothes. Bidding Hermione one more goodbye that she could never hear, Draco Malfoy disapparated with a crack back to his empty life and a wife he could barely tolerate anymore. Astoria knew very well that she would have to allow him this emotional infidelity, because she was not his first choice, in fact, she was not even second, she was just the person who's parents were most insistent that they wed. Sighing, she wondered why she did not refuse to let him go to those meals, why she ignored his midnight visits to her grave, never mentioned that he said Hermione's name when he slept or when they had sex as she watched him stalk in to the house late from another visit to his old flame. She knew well enough that "Mya" had been his nickname for Hermione, and it pained her that he could never love her like her had loved Hermione, although she would always try to make him see her. Astoria could never begrudge this obsession because Draco and Hermione would have been together, would have had their own family, and she reminded him of that. Hermione was a dark shadow that loomed over the Malfoy family, swallowing their joy.

The wind whistled through the trees as the clock struck midnight, sounding, to anyone who could hear, like a contented sigh - perhaps if you listened close enough you could pick out faint words in that wind. As it had every year, the wind breathed a faint I love you before soaring through the trees and out into the dark night once again to dance among the stars.


End file.
